


Domestication

by Havokftw



Series: I used to be indecisive, now I'm not sure. [10]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alpha Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Babies, Breeding, Domestic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Impregnation, Jihoon has awful cravings, Knotting, Light Angst, M/M, Male Lactation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mood Swings, Morning Sickness, Mpreg, Omega Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Omega Verse, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Pups, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-02-12 16:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 41,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12963087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: In this moment, he has everything he needs, both materially and socially. He’s making a life with Seungcheol, and it’s shaping up very nicely indeed. And if his heart is telling him it might be improved by the addition of a screaming infant, waking them up in the middle of the night, and puking everywhere, well — his heart is clearly insane. Jihoon has always favoured simplicity; a baby would complicate their lives so fucking much.





	1. Deliberation

Jihoon graduates with a distinction, top of his class too. He’s been working towards this for so long, looking at scroll in his hand, his throat feels tight with relief.

He finished college a different person than when he’d started, but the parts of him that pushed him forward with determination are not gone, only changed. He has other reasons to keep living now.

Seungcheol takes a few days off work for the ceremony, and Seungcheol’s parents have come as well. They enfold Jihoon in massive hugs, tell him they’re proud and that he’s brilliant, and Seungcheol’s dad declares they’re all going out for dinner to celebrate whether he likes it or not.  

There's a brief moment, taut and sharp and dangerous, where Jihoon thinks he sees an unwelcome face in a crowd of young people in pristine gowns and proud parents taking photos. After so many years spent watching his back, it's hard to miss the distinctively statuesque figure or the dark twist of hair, or the all too familiar sensation of dark eyes drilling into him.

But when he runs his eyes over the crowd for a second time, there's no sign of _him_.

* * *

 

Their first house is a two story, three-bedroom, modest back garden affair on the outskirts of Daegu. It's their first step on the property ladder and has ‘great resale value’ according to Seungcheol’s father—who generously contributed to the deposit.

The day they move in, Seungcheol tries to carry him inside, and Jihoon nearly decks him for attempting to put him through such indignity.

It’s not the sort of home Jihoon imagined for himself—if he’s being honest. He always imagined them buying a nice apartment in the city. The sort of place with all its charming original fittings; great big entrance door painted in peeling green, a custodian with a wall of brass keys, worn tiles and a wrought iron elevator.

He didn’t expect them to pack up and leave the city so soon after he graduated, but with Seungcheol taking over the family business—Jihoon didn’t like the idea of him commuting ridiculous hours every day just so they could stay in Seoul.

Moving closer to Seungcheol’s parents made sense in the end.

They agonised over locations, viewed a few properties and finally settled on this— _not-quite_ Suburbia. It’s perfect for them; a cosy living room and a massive office turned studio for Jihoon, a workable kitchen and two En-suite bedrooms with picture windows all over the place and it's quiet, sometimes _achingly_ quiet.

Jihoon soon falls in love with it.

It's probably really idiotic, but it feels like a first real home to Jihoon.

* * *

 

Like most couples, they've fallen into certain patterns. Jihoon's favourite—is the dinner routine.

The thing is, Jihoon really can’t cook.

It's one of those skills he's always _wanted_ to have in an absent, wistful sort of way, but apart from frying things to death or making sandwiches, he's shit at cooking and he knows it, so he doesn't bother.

The few times he's _tried_ to get creative and whip out a recipe book, he’s produced nothing but smoke damage and unpleasant-looking gelatinous bits, so he’s given it up for a lost cause.

Funnily enough, in all the years they've known each other, Jihoon has never seen Seungcheol open a cookbook. He's never seen Seungcheol even  _glance_  at a cookbook, come to that. With all his bulk, Seungcheol doesn’t look like he possesses the grace and fluidity to belong in the kitchen, and Jihoon _has_ seen Seungcheol chop an onion with a machete, which should have been terrifying and was incredibly hot instead, but that is entirely beside the point.

The point being: Seungcheol is inexplicably fantastic in the kitchen and Jihoon's a disaster, so Seungcheol does all the cooking.

When they get in at night, Jihoon always toes of his shoes, takes off his jacket, grabs two beers out of the fridge, and leaves the door open as he walks away. Then Seungcheol rummages around in there until he has an armful of unlikely-looking ingredients to set out on the counter, humming cheerfully to himself as he does so.

"What’s on the menu?" Jihoon always asks, tossing him a beer.

Seungcheol just winks at him and sends him away to put on less restrictive clothing— _or sometimes nothing._

When Jihoon comes back in boxers and one of Seungcheol's t-shirts there is always something beginning to smell unutterably amazing, and Seungcheol always puts down whatever he's holding—a knife, a spatula—and kisses Jihoon thoroughly before getting back to work.

They eat on the kitchen island, never bother setting the table, and it's always fucking delicious. They shoot the shit about their respective days and whatever else, and then they finish and Seungcheol says something like "If we ate off paper plates—we could just throw them out instead of washing up." Or “We should really invest in a dishwasher.” And Jihoon just shoves him out of the kitchen so he can clean up.

That’s Jihoon’s thing—the cleaning, the organising.

When that’s done, they move to the couch and onto the "really fun" portion of the evening.

Which when anyone asks, is intensely sexual and intimate—steamy make out session, 69-ing on the couch or something equally graphic. But, in fact it’s them arguing what to watch on TV (Jihoon always wins), who gets to hold the remote (Seungcheol always wins), and then them falling asleep on top of each another five minutes in.

* * *

 

The Pharmacy is chaos.

The waiting area is full and there is a queue right out the door just for pick up. Jihoon almost regrets letting a desperate father skip ahead of him, but the baby he has cradled over his shoulder is coughing his little lungs out and it would have been heartless to make them wait their turn.

After all, Jihoon just here to pick up his contraceptives, so it’s not like it’s a medical emergency. But he’s been queuing for thirty minutes and now the baby is crying, and that inevitably encourages another kid to start balling, and now there are four children in the pharmacy in hysterics.

The pharmacist looks so stressed like perhaps they want to start crying and Jihoon feels like crying alongside them because— _Oh, God_ —the sound of children crying is _torture_.

The shrieking sounds like it's coming from every direction at once, more or less. It sirens up and down intermittently, and it's pitched a little higher every time. Jihoon grimaces, grits his teeth. Tightens his grip on the prescription in his hand, and wills himself not to scream _‘SHUT THE FUCK UP!’_ in the middle of the neighbourhood pharmacy.

Why? Why would anyone expose themselves to this willingly?

A quick glance down the queue reveals the parents are calm and composed—patiently shushing their noisy offspring. They don’t seem to be wincing at the shrill noise like everyone else in the queue.

Jihoon thinks it’s some form of— _selective deafness_ —where they habitually tune out the sound of their child’s whining.

It _must_ be—or else how would they tolerate that noise?

Jihoon’s almost had enough, ready to turn on his heel and stalk out—fuck the prescription. He thinks about asking Seungcheol to collect it later—but then, the infant drops their blanket and the father is too busy juggling a pen, a prescription bag and a cell-phone to pick it up, so Jihoon does.

Gingerly he lifts it up to the baby’s outstretched hand, watching as the sobbing evens out and a tiny fist makes grabby hands at the blanket.

Instead of taking the blanket from Jihoon— _like he was supposed to_ —the baby’s tiny fist grips Jihoon’s thumb.

Jihoon tenses, his instincts screaming  _It's a trap!_  in a full on Admiral Ackbar. 

Instead of decapitating him—like Jihoon half expects, the baby blinks round, wet eyes at him over his father’s shoulder, then smiles like a cherub.

“Did you make a friend?” The father coos, smiling over his shoulder at the content baby that shows no signs of wanting to let go of Jihoon’s finger.

The panic must show on Jihoon’s face, because the father looks at him and laughs. “It’s okay. They seem scary at first, but you’ll feel differently when you’re holding your own.”

Jihoon smiles. It surprises him, the thought thrilling through him, electric and wild.

“Yeah—I know.”

When he finally picks up his prescription, he sits in his car staring at the box, at the blister pack inside with little numbers marking the dates of his pills.

He’s due to start his new pack tomorrow.

He doesn’t.

* * *

 

Later that month, Jihoon and Seungcheol show up at Jisoo’s door with groceries, and Jisoo quickly decides that Seungcheol is allowed to help make dinner but Jihoon definitely is not. He shoves a beer in his hand and pushes him into the living room, where Jeonghan is already curled up on the couch.

“You’re not allowed to cook either?” Jihoon asks as Jisoo pulls the door shut behind him with a decisive  _click_.

Jeonghan sighs elaborately with an added eye roll for effect “I collapsed a soufflé once, three years ago. Shua never lets me live it down.”

Jihoon sits down next to him and allows himself to pout a bit. “I burned waffles this morning,” He says mournfully.

“At least Cheol has faith enough to let you try,” Jeonghan tips his beer bottle in a mocking toast. “Shua won’t let me so much as _look_ at the microwave.”

Jihoon looks at the beer in his hand, decides against it, and sets in down in favour of some lemon water sitting on the table.

Pausing with his bottle poised halfway to his lips, Jeonghan just stares at him until Jihoon notices that he is. Jihoon’s mind is already darting ahead to the excuse he is going to have to come up with to sufficiently convince Jeonghan there is nothing amiss about him skipping a drink.

“What?” He asks, trying for innocent and probably missing by a mile, judging by Jeonghan’s expression.

“Why aren’t you _drinking_?” Jeonghan says, gaze still searching and probing, voice tinged with _knowing_.

Jihoon shifts in his seat, nervous. “Cheollie needs a night off. He’s been working so hard—he deserves a drink. Besides, you know what I’m like with my alcohol.” he dismisses.

It sounds like bullshit when he says it aloud like that, but surely Jeonghan won’t notice.

 _“Of course.”_ Jeonghan says kindly, like he thinks it's bullshit too. Then he waves his hands in a vaguely circling motion over his stomach. “The only other explanation would be….”

Jihoon immediately holds up his hand.

He’s been down this _‘Are you guys trying?’_ road too many times with Seungkwan, Minghao and Seungcheol’s mother and the last thing he wants is for Jeonghan to turn it into light dinner conversation.

He hasn’t even spoke to Seungcheol about it recently, and he’s sure if the Alpha so much as gets a _whiff_ that Jihoon has been considering getting pregnant—he’d mount him before dinner was ready.

 _Hell_ —he’d probably mount him here on the couch and invite Jisoo and Jeonghan to watch!

“Just because I choose not to have a beer—doesn’t mean I’m pregnant.”

Jeonghan makes a sound with his tongue that clearly indicates he doesn’t believe him. “ _Hmm_. I suppose _not_. But you _are_ thinking of trying, aren’t you? I figure now would be about the right time for you guys to head in that direction.”

Jihoon shakes his head, he can feel a blush begin to spread across his face and stifles the urge to look away. “I _just_ graduated.”

“You graduated three months ago.” Jeonghan points out, completely throwing Jihoon off his defensive game plan.

Jihoon wrinkles his nose. “Well—I’ve just started my new job, so it would look pretty bad if I got knocked up so soon.”

“True, but if you got pregnant _now_ you would be on leave by the end of your first year, and they couldn’t fault you on that. _Besides_ , there are laws against Omega discrimination in the workplace—they can’t complain about you taking leave for pregnancy without being dragged through a lawsuit.” Jeonghan says, giving him a pointed look as he takes a sip of his beer.

Jihoon’s mind jumps and skitters to the explanation he is going to have to conjure to convince Jeonghan to let it drop.

“It’s not the right time now. We just moved to the new house, and Cheol’s taking on his dad’s business—it’s pretty hectic and I’d prefer to wait till things settled down.” He deflects, trying in vain, to think of a way to steer the conversation back to safe, familiar territory.

“Sure—sure.” Jeonghan nods, before shooting him a hesitant glance, teeth biting his bottom lip, “Is there ever a right time though? Having a baby is _always_ going to rock the boat a little, and there’s _always_ going to be reasons to delay it if you think hard enough. You’re both in a pretty stable situation financially at the moment, _and_ you’ve been fully fertile for over two years. It makes sense to plan for it now. I think you’d both make _great_ parents.”

Jihoon hesitates, torn between restating the obvious and admitting possible doubts. In the end, he opts for neither. He _scowls_. “Why have you such a vested interest in this? Did Seungcheol put you up to this?”

Jeonghan laughs and shakes his head. “No. Trust me, I’ve already done my bit playing matchmaker between you too. He still owes me from last time.”

Jihoon blinks. “Last time?”

“You know,” Jeonghan waves his beer in the air dismissively. “When I helped him get closer to you in college. He still owes me.”

Jihoon’s already got his mouth open, more from stunned surprise than because he has any idea of what he’s going to say. “ _Helped_ him? Get _closer_ to me? What are you talking about?”

Jeonghan takes another sip of his beer, quirks him a bemused brow over the rim of the bottle. He swallows and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth.

“When I befriended Jisoo that night at the mixer—so Seungcheol could get friendlier with you guys?” Jeonghan says casually. When Jihoon looks genuinely baffled at his response, Jeonghan’s expression tightens, “Aw— _fuck_. He didn’t tell you about that, did he?”

“What?!” Jihoon responds intelligently, feeling genuinely blindsided.

“Oh, _shit_.” Jeonghan hisses, sounding like he's just put his foot in it. He quickly tosses back the rest of his beer in one swallow and makes a move to stand. “Would you look at that—I think I need another beer.”

Jihoon grabs Jeonghan’s elbow as he tries to lever himself up, and drags him back down. “Here—have mine.” He growls, pushing his still full beer into Jeonghan’s hand. “Now— _talk.”_

Beside him, Jeonghan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, the Beta’s inhale harsh before he continues to speak.

“ _Dammit_ —I was sure you would have known by now. It was ages ago.” Jeonghan takes another long swig of beer and shrugs.” It’s been—what? _Four years?”_

Jihoon nods, molars grinding down hard against each other, “This is the first I’ve heard of it—so spill.”

Jeonghan pinches the bridge of his nose, face scrunched. “ _Ugh_. It’s not that big a deal. He just asked me— _depending on how you look at it_ —pressured me to go to this party with him cause he knew you would be there. You were chatting in a corner with Jisoo that night, and Cheollie asked me to get friendly with you guys and _maybe_ distract Jisoo for a bit. He figured as a Beta, I could get closer to your group then he could, that maybe I could act as a middle man while he tried to _win_ you.”

"Because I'm like a prize," Jihoon says, wrinkling his noise at the thought of being the object of desire in some weird, flirting game.

“Well—you _were_ really hard work Jihoon.” Jeonghan is unrepentant. “You weren’t the easiest person around Alpha’s back then. I watched Cheollie try and talk to you—and _damn_ —you were so _tense_. I was sure you were going to throw yourself out the window or something.”

Jihoon's breath catches at the reminder.

Jihoon thinks back to that time at the mixer, being a little pissed off at how Jisoo was chatting to him one minute, and then suddenly being whisked away by a flirtatious Beta the next, leaving him alone to scowl at Seungcheol across the room.

Seungcheol had carefully approached him then, shoulders hunched in an effort to look smaller and less intimidating. He’d tentatively asked questions, until he found something Jihoon had an opinion on, and gradually nudged that opinion into a conversation, at least until Jihoon realised that one word answers didn't count.

Then Seungcheol got him a drink and asked him some more questions, until Jihoon was actually talking. It was awkward, stilted. But it wasn’t a disaster.

Jihoon rubs his hands over his face, “I can’t believe—Does Jisoo know about this?”

“Of course, Jisoo knows.” Jeonghan guffaws, looking over his shoulder, presumably at Jisoo and Seungcheol in the kitchen.

“He knew right away. He knew that _night_ in fact—even confronted me about it and all. I had to bribe him with free dinners for a month or else he was gonna spill. That’s when I saw that irresistible, cut throat side of him.” Jeonghan says, voice taking on a faraway quality. “I thought you’d figured it out too—seeing as you spent the whole night _scowling_ at Seungcheol.”

Jihoon tries not to scowl at that. “I always scowled at him back then. I still scowl at him now. I scowled at him five minutes ago.”

Jeonghan chuckles quietly, scratching his chin. “Hmm, _yeah_ —you sure do like to scowl a lot.”

“I can’t believe how sneaky he was.” Jihoon mutters, his voice hoarse. “All this time—I thought it was just—I dunno—fate that brought us together.”

This time, Jeonghan doesn’t sigh or throw sarcasm his way. His voice is gentle and a little fond when he says. “It’s cute though—you have to admit. You were _all_ he talked about, and I think he realised how nervous you were around alpha’s. Probably figured the only way to bridge that distance was to ensure you had the same circle of friends where you couldn’t avoid him, where you could get to know him safely and slowly and he couldn’t be accused of stalking you. He really _wanted_ you.”

Jihoon pretends that doesn't charm him. Fucking emotions. He snorts. “Yeah—but still, underhanded much?”

“Or, maybe the most _ludicrously_ romantic thing _ever_.” Jeonghan offers.

Jihoon sighs in a way that is meant to sound very put upon, but really means he secretly enjoys the suggestion.

His skin feels warm. It’s considered old-fashioned, but he’d heard during courtships Alphas sometimes use intermediariesto test out the waters without being too pushy. It’s assertive without disrespecting an Omega’s boundaries.

In a weird way, it’s sweet to think that them coming together wasn’t just left up to the God’s of fate; Seungcheol had been masterminding it all along.

“ _And_ it worked out pretty well in the end.” Jeonghan pipes up again, still fighting Seungcheol’s corner. “We had a good group back then and we’re all still close now. If Seungcheol didn’t make it happen—I probably wouldn’t be with Shua, Vernon and Boo wouldn’t be together. He even introduced Junhui to Minghao and _they’re_ still together.”

“Hmm.” Jihoon hums, unconvinced, but any irritation he feels evaporates at Jeonghan’s next statement.

“All that hard work—just to get you.”

The honesty of that floors Jihoon and he feels light-headed. He’s sure his cheeks must be bright pink because he feels exceedingly warm right then.

“Even then you were still hard work. Avoiding him, blanking him—the _scowling_. I lost count of how many times I told him to just give up. But he was a trooper, just kept on trying to please you. Remember when we all went to the amusement park—cause you’d never been before. And he rode that rollercoaster with you five times, even though he was terrified and ended up being sick in Mingyu’s popcorn?”

Jihoon shakes his head, reflecting upon the memory, but he is smiling when he looks back to Jeonghan. “He’s such a dork. I love him so much.” He murmurs fondly.

Jihoon’s spent his whole life refusing to need anyone, but Seungcheol was different. Seungcheol had snuck in under the wire and stayed close, and Jihoon's chest hurts with the fierce wave of affection that rolls through him when he thinks of his Alpha.

He has to launch himself out of ‘soft’ mode then, when the door swings open and Seungcheol steps into the room, sleeves rolled up and a spatula in hand.

“Guys—a little help here. Jisoo’s adding way to many mushrooms to the sauce and it’s going to ruin dinner, but he won’t _listen_ to me.” Seungcheol huffs, slicing the air with his spatula.

Gaze shifting between them quickly, Seungcheol notes the sudden silence his appearance has created and hesitates.

“Everything alright?” He asks. The expression on his face is awkwardly uncomfortable but reassuringly clueless.

Jeonghan draws a breath as if to say something, then deflates when Jihoon interjects.

“Everything is fine, babe.” Jihoon says, omitting the whole _‘you are one sneaky fucker’_ discussion. “Go back in there and kick Jisoo’s ass. Don’t let him push you around— _that’s my job.”_ Jihoon smiles at him, and Seungcheol returns it with interest.

“You want another beer?” Seungcheol asks, gesturing mistakenly to Jeonghan’s empty bottle on the table. “I plan on driving home later, so you can have another drink if you want.” He suggests, lifting his eyebrows, pulling a helpful face.

“No, I’m good.” Jihoon waves him off, an airy gesture. “One’s the limit for me.”

Seungcheol just smiles again and heads back into the kitchen.

Jeonghan watches the last of him disappear behind the door and sighs. “ _Phew_. I was sure you were going to rip his head off there.”

Jihoon laughs at how serious Jeonghan manages to look when he says that, and after a moment he can’t stop himself from smiling.

He sinks down a bit lower in his chair until he’s well and truly slouching, resting his lemon water on the arm of it.  

“No. I need him alive. It would be _really_ hard to make a baby without his contribution.” He tells Jeonghan drily.

Jeonghan’s face lights up instantly and he chokes on his next sip of beer, and Jihoon begins the painstaking process of first securing his solemn vow of silence about the whole thing, and then changing the subject entirely, because suddenly, it feels like his stomach is full of butterflies.

* * *

 

On the drive home, Jihoon watches the city move through his window and wonders how good the nearby kindergarten is, what colour he would use in the nursery, what status his offspring are likely to be.

It’s silly. It’s ridiculous. He’s thinking ahead already and he isn’t even _pregnant_ yet.

“Everything okay? You’ve been extra quiet tonight at dinner.” Seungcheol says, taking his eyes off the road long enough to throw Jihoon a sideways glance.  

Jihoon realizes he's been sitting silent too long. He tries not to feel guilty.

He wants to tell Seungcheol what he’s been thinking about, but he really doesn’t know how to bring it up. Usually, he doesn't bother to sort out his feelings, _usually_ — they sort themselves out in their own time — but it's bothering him now.

He’s fucking _terrified_ of how badly and suddenly he wants this, but at the same time he doesn’t want to get Seungcheol’s hopes up, only for Jihoon to dash them later when he changes his mind in a panic.

Swallowing back a mouthful of excuses and lies, he develops a sudden interest with the rain lashing on the window. “Everything’s fine. Just coming to terms with reality.” He says.

It's not a lie. Jihoon's known people with lives like the one he's trying to imagine the edges of. It's never been something he's particularly wanted for himself.

In this moment, he has everything he needs, both materially and socially. He’s making a life with Seungcheol, and it’s shaping up very nicely indeed. And if his heart is telling him it might be improved by the addition of a screaming infant, waking them up in the middle of the night, and puking everywhere, _well_ — his heart is clearly _insane_. Jihoon has always favoured simplicity; a baby would complicate their lives so fucking much.

His answer doesn’t seem to placate Seungcheol; his face is still tense with concern.

“Are you sure? I feel like—you wanna say _something_?” Seungcheol probes. His eyes dart to Jihoon’s every few minutes and Jihoon watches his gaze soften just _so_ when it happens, like just seeing Jihoon pleases him.

Jihoon recalls Jeonghan’s words from earlier: _All that hard work—just to get you._

“I dunno—do you wanna share something? Got any secrets?” Jihoon pushes the question out into the tense air.

Seungcheol startles, head shooting up from the dashboard to swivel and face Jihoon, words of denial on the tip of his tongue. “No. I—I tell you _everything_.”

Jihoon looks over at him with a bit of a sly smile. “Really? _Everything_?” he resumes, eyes dark on his Alpha’s, “So you’ve got no sneaky secrets from four years ago you want to share at _all_?” he asks, and has to supress a laugh at the look of unhappy shock that immediately crosses Seungcheol’s face.

“No.” Seungcheol pauses, considering it. “I—no. I don’t.”

“Okay then. _Good_.” Jihoon drawls, slumping back in his seat.

Seungcheol is frowning, looking as though he’s about to tip from bewildered into wondering.  “Why specifically four years?” He asks after a moment of silence.

“That’s how long we’ve known each other, you big sneak.” Jihoon teases. It's apparently a misstep, because Seungcheol’s brow furrows and his head drops forward, mouth an unhappy curve.

“Oh—I’m just _teasing_ , Cheollie. If you must know—Jeonghan accidentally blurted how he had a hand in getting us together. How you made him befriend Jisoo so you could get the drop on me. How you orchestrated the whole,” and Jihoon has lost his train of thought a little because Seungcheol's smiling again, hiding it, ducking his head with pleasure.

“What?” Jihoon asks.

Seungcheol chuckles. “You were such hard work.”

“Hey!” Jihoon scoffs.

“So worth it.” Seungcheol interrupts quickly, dimpling sweetly. “So fucking worth it. I wanted you from the moment I saw you.” He says, and everything goes hot and thrilling in the space of a few seconds when his gaze catches Jihoon’s, heavy and hot.

Jihoon hasn't said anything yet, but he wants that look to be an invitation to climb on top of Seungcheol in the drivers seat and ride him until he comes in his stupid clingy jeans.

He snorts instead. “Talk about mixed messages. I thought you were trying to intimidate me with your Alpha-ness by stealing that pudding cup.”  Jihoon says, frustrated and incredibly aroused.

Seungcheol grins, “I bought _you_ that pudding cup, Jihoonie.”

“I’ll admit—that did confuse me at first.” Jihoon acknowledges with a tip of his head. “But then I assumed you were trying to lure me into a false sense of security. It made me even _more_ suspicious of your intentions.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, chuckling quietly under his breath.

Jihoon could probably resist the urge, but he doesn't even try, just reaches for Seungcheol's hand resting lazily on the gearstick to interlocks their fingers and absorb the reassuring warmth through his palm.

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow, corner of his lip twitching nearly imperceptibly, and Jihoon doesn't miss the smirk reflecting in those eyes. To his credit, Seungcheol leaves his amusement unspoken.

“I’m glad you didn’t give up on me Cheol.” Jihoon tells him, squeezing his mate’s hand.

“Never.” Seungcheol murmurs, squeezing back in Jihoon’s grip, the pleasure writ across his face in soft eyes and a flush across his cheeks.

Jihoon smiles, feeling warm all over in an entirely different way.

He slumps back into his chair again, satisfied, and casts a sidelong glance at Seungcheol.

If someone had told Jihoon, five years ago, that he would want this – not just Seungcheol, an Alpha, a mate, warm and familiar, the softness that Jihoon knows can flow into deadly protectiveness with no transition at all; but the house, a family, a growing pup in his belly – he would have laughed right in their face, would have assumed they were joking. But now, wanting anything else seems like the real joke.

Staring at his mate, the warmth in his eyes, the choice is suddenly as easy as breathing to him... he wants to get pregnant. He wants to have Seungcheol’s pups.

* * *

 

Nothing puts a crick in your neck like being curled over a table of paperwork for seven hours, Seungcheol decides, trying and failing to rub the knots out of the tendons just under his right ear.

He was relieved to get Jihoon’s message calling him away from work; even though he’s running the show now and can leave whenever he wants, leaving early is a luxury he denies himself sometimes.

When he parks his car in the drive, he can see a cozy orangey light shining faintly in the front window. It's barely early evening but the sun's almost down. Winter solstice, Seungcheol reminds himself.

He nods a greeting at their neighbour as he locks the car, and finds a fresh burst of energy to lope up the two steps to the house. The alarm beeps cheerfully to announce Seungcheol’s entrance. The air smells like sandalwood and vanilla: _home, home, home._

Seungcheol drops his keys on the hallway table, sniffing hopefully at the air. “Hoonie?”

When there is no immediate answer, he starts rifling through the mail on the table, until Jihoon’s voice calls out.

“Oh good. You’re home.”

Seungcheol turns, seeing steam spilling out of the bathroom door and Jihoon heading down the hall towards him, damp and flush-faced from the heat, with just a towel wrapped around his waist.  

Seungcheol licks his lips on instinct. “Your message said it was urgent?”

Jihoon stops six feet away from him, it feels deliberate, cautious.

“It is—I’m in heat.” Jihoon says, jutting his chin out.

Seungcheol gives him a curious look for a heartbeat. Jihoon looks a little wild in the eyes when Seungcheol steps forward, but there’s no real outward sign, not yet, only that familiar scent that makes Seungcheol want to bite the back of his neck and lick him all over.

“Why are you acting….” Seungcheol begins, but when he dips his head to sniff at the spot beneath Jihoon’s jaw, there  _is_  something different under Jihoon’s smell. Subtle and barely there, but enough for Seungcheol to notice. “Wait—you smell different. Why?”

Jihoon doesn’t show any indication he’s even heard him. “Go sit down on the couch.”

Seungcheol blinks, stupidly, because he wasn’t expecting that. Unless…

“Aw crap. Am I in trouble?” His shoulders slump, immediately petulant in response and ignoring the way Jihoon positively glows at his reaction. They've gotten to the point where they can jump right to the end of an argument and have his punishment over with a little sooner, at least. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything.” says Jihoon, unrepentant, dimpling. “You’re not in trouble. Just—go sit down. I have something to show you.”

Seungcheol trudges over to the couch and flops down, still sulking. Usually this would be when Jihoon starts scowling and pointing out what he’s done wrong, straight to the point as he always is, but instead there's a palpable hesitation as he moves across the room, smiling to himself for some reason as he gathers some boxes from a cabinet.

Preoccupied with sulking, Seungcheol misses it when Jihoon moves closer to him, and he freezes when his mate drops a box on his lap.

Seungcheol frowns down at the box without opening it. “What’s this?”

Jihoon perches on the edge of the armrest, hands suddenly jittery as he folds them on his lap.

“My contraceptives.” He replies with a hint of amusement.

Seungcheol opens the box, sliding a full blister strip of pills out, eyes flicking up to Jihoon’s with unveiled suspicion mixed with curiosity.  He gets increasingly dismayed at the silence until he can’t take it anymore. “So? I don’t get it.”

Jihoon reaches forward and squeezes his shoulder, “It’s a full packet.”

“The ones I picked up from the pharmacy this week?” Seungcheol asks, examining the packet between his hands, checking the expiry date on the foil. Everything seems in order. “Is something wrong with..”

“No, that’s not this month’s box.” Jihoon says quickly, his words bumping up against Seungcheol's, stopping Seungcheol short. “That pack is from last month.”

Seungcheol can’t move, can’t lift his eyes from where they are lowered, to the full pack of contraceptives clutched in his hand. “But—it’s still a full pack.”

Jihoon sighs, stilling his slightly jiggling knee. “I _know_ , because I stopped taking them a month ago.”

Seungcheol is momentarily at a loss for words. Finally, “Why would you do that for?” He asks quietly, but it's a silly question when Jihoon's already reaching out and sliding one fingertip under the edge of his collar, forcing Seungcheol to meet his gaze.

“Cheol,” He swallows, a shivery exhale and then, “I want a baby.”

Seungcheol’s head goes alarmingly fuzzy. Brain zooming in on the word and…

Nope. Now is _really_ not the time for Alpha tunnel vision. That would be seriously unhelpful right now.

“So. Yeah.” Jihoon gives an indistinct wave with the hand that isn’t holding a towel around his hips. “How do you feel about that?”

Seungcheol takes a deep breath, tries to calm his rapidly beating heart. “Oh fuck. Please don’t be joking.”

“Would I joke about this?” Jihoon gasps. He’s trying to look exasperated, Seungcheol can tell, but there’s a smile trying even harder to take over his face.

Seungcheol is already sprinting past the incredulity stage, grinning the sort of hopelessly slushy grin that Jihoon’s gotten a little too good at being the cause of.  He tosses the box aside, already reaching for Jihoon’s waist with both hands.

“Shit— _Hoonie_.” he chokes, and sweeps Jihoon into his arms and onto his lap. Jihoon goes with it gracefully, straddling Seungcheol’s thighs like he’s made for it. Somehow, disappointingly, he doesn’t lose his towel.

Seungcheol can’t help but whine excitedly, rubbing his face back and forth on his mate’s belly, filling his head up with the feel and smell of home. Jihoon is maybe laughing a little, but it's at least half a sort of giddy hysteria.

It's all too good to be true. Seungcheol closes his eyes and breathes in the comforting scent of his mate, assures himself— _It's real, it's real._

“God, you look like such a  _dork_ ,” Jihoon sighs at him, sliding a hand under Seungcheol's shirt, soft and warm and damp, skidding across Seungcheol's dry skin.

When Seungcheol’s hands go stroking up the smooth skin of Jihoon’s back, it feels like they swallow up so much of him, from his bony shoulders to his trim waist.

Seungcheol tries to picture him three months along, six months along, flat stomach stretched and swollen with their baby. It makes his thoughts whirl just like always, but this time it isn’t just his mind's eye being overambitious, it’s an actual  _possibility_ , it’s something that could very well end up being a reality, and he doesn’t give a damn if his facial expressions are too dorky for Jihoon’s taste. “Jihoonie—I’m gonna be pretty much a dork from here on out. You realise that, don’t you?”

Jihoon shrugs. “You’re still the hottest dork I’ve ever met, so I guess that counts for something.” He laughs, shoving Seungcheol down to kiss him, fingers gliding over his jaw and neck, cupping the back of his head to angle it better, teasing Seungcheol's mouth open with his tongue.

Jihoon brings it down a few minutes later with slow, languorous kisses that make Seungcheol want to growl. He breaks the kiss and smirks at Seungcheol’s eagerness.

“Since I’m going into heat….” Jihoon trails off, fingers twisting around his tie. “We could start now, or we could wait till my next…”

“No waiting. We have to start right now!” Seungcheol interjects, whipping Jihoon’s towel off and flinging it to the side, ignoring the wobble and crash of a nearby lampshade.

“You idiot. That was a housewarming gift from Soonyoung.” Jihoon snaps.

“ _Shhh_ — _shhh_.” Seungcheol shushes him. Leaning up to try and snag a kiss. “Let’s not get angry when we’re about to make beautiful pups together.”

Jihoon scowls at him, arms crossed in stubborn petulance.

Seungcheol can’t help but smile fondly, lifting a hand to trace fingers over Jihoon’s furrowed brow. “I hope our pups have your scowl. I hope they’re just like you Hoonie. Anything that’s fifty percent you is already a hundred percent perfect.”

Jihoon's adorable glower smooths out then, “Oh—Jesus Christ, _Cheol_.” He sighs, but even as he says it, his forehead tips forward and rests against Seungcheol’s, his eyes slipping closed. “I can’t believe you’re real sometimes.” He whispers, hands twisting in Seungcheol’s hair, mouth sweet and open for him.

Seungcheol nips at him, kisses him over and over, can never get enough of kissing him. Adrenaline is lighting his nerves up like the best rush, he’s almost dizzy with it.

“Can’t believe it, so happy.” he mumbles into the soft dip of Jihoon’s throat. “You’re sure?”

He feels the hum of it against his lips when Jihoon laughs. “Very.”

Seungcheol touches him softly, the slender lines of Jihoon’s body as familiar to him as his own. He strokes slowly along the insides of his thighs, over the curve of his ass, up his back and around to run a broad palm over the smooth flat skin on his belly.

Jihoon looks down, amused.  “Trying to imagine a baby in there?” He asks, hand sliding over Seungcheol’s.

“Yeah.” Seungcheol gasps, heart pounding from anything but fear. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been waiting for this. Thinking of you—bred full. Jesus, Hoonie—you’re going to get so _huge_. I can’t wait.” He confesses, raspy and desperate.

Jihoon rolls his eyes but dimples obligingly anyway.

Getting a good grip on Jihoon’s ass to haul him closer, Seungcheol lifts off the couch, encouraging  Jihoon to wraps his legs around his waist.

"Don’t drop me." Jihoon says, curving his hands around Seungcheol's neck to kiss his jaw, the corner of the smug smile that appears as Jihoon tightens his legs.

"Have I ever?" Seungcheol says, and he moves like it's nothing, carrying Jihoon to their bedroom and somehow catching the light without breaking the filthy kiss Jihoon has him in. The door snaps shut as he loses his balance and falls back against it, hands tight on Jihoon's ass.

He doesn't throw Jihoon on the bed, but falls with him, hot and heavy into the messy, bunched up sheets.

Seungcheol breaks the kiss only to divest himself of his clothes before climbing on top of the Omega, and staring his fill. 

Inside Seungcheol’s mind, everything fast-forwards until he’s seeing Jihoon with the flat, hard planes of his stomach curving outward, his nipples swollen and more sensitive than ever. When he goes thumbing over them as they are now—dark pink and small, pleasingly responsive to touches of all kinds as it is—it’s enough to make Jihoon wriggle impatiently, choke out a little whimper.

Seungcheol can’t even fathom how much the next nine months might intensify that. He kisses each one, sucks them slowly into his mouth in turn, the points of them delicate against his lips.

He lingers there _maybe_ a bit too long since Jihoon grunts and pulls him up to kiss him again, sucking hard at his tongue. His hips rut against Seungcheol’s, hard cock sliding against his belly.

Seungcheol grins and eases down his body, suckling at Jihoon’s cock long enough to take in the bitter taste of pre-come there, then moving lower still.

No need to urge his legs further apart, as Jihoon is already way ahead of him, but Seungcheol is deliberately a bit of a tease about nipping along his thighs before finally using his thumbs to part Jihoon wide.

“Look at you. All wet for me already, aren’t you?” Seungcheol purrs.

The only answer is Jihoon’s whine. He looks pretty far gone already, shivering with eager energy beneath him, breathing hard and looking at Seungcheol through glazed eyes.

Seungcheol lays his lips against Jihoon's throat, right at the pulse point, and murmurs a soft, " _Shhhhh_ ," against his mate’s skin.

It settles Jihoon momentarily, and Seungcheol lifts his hand to Jihoon’s mouth, letting the Omega suckle on two fingers, getting them wet enough for Seungcheol to open him up.

When he presses a finger up against Jihoon’s rim, just stroking lightly, Jihoon whines again and tries to angle his lower body just the right way to let him slip in. Seungcheol could stay like this for a very long time, letting Jihoon squirm and sigh and suckle at his neck and lips, glassy eyed and gasping each time Seungcheol teases his fingertip just past the pink rim of his hole.

But then Jihoon gives a small chuff of laugher. “Foreplay is great and everything, but at this rate? By the time you finally get it in, I won’t even be in heat anymore.”

“Just appreciating the moment puddin. I was actually thinking of lighting some candles, ya know—to set the mood. Maybe throw some rose petals everywhere.” Seungcheol laughs, nestling his face against the warm skin of Jihoon’s stomach. “I want to be able to tell our kids how they were conceived in excruciating detail.”

“Oh, God!” Jihoon manages to sound almost scandalised even though he breaks into laughter easily. “Why can I imagine you doing that already? You’re going to be the embarrassing, _oversharing_ dad. You’re going to be the one who tries to act hip with all their friends, the one who has the ‘talk’ with them.”

Seungcheol smiles, overcome with a wash of fondness. “And what dad are you going to be? Hmm?”

“I don’t know.” Jihoon shrugs a shoulder, voice low and lazy. “Probably the dad that has to drag them kicking and screaming to the dentist—after _you_ ruin my carefully constructed meal plan and let them eat candy for breakfast.”

Seungcheol grins unashamedly. “Sounds like I’m going to be fun dad.”

Jihoon flicks a small, hollow smile. “Yeah—you will. One of us has to be.” He adds, voice going tight and heartsore. “I don’t think I have it in me to be _fun dad.”_

Ordinarily this would be where Seungcheol would lighten the mood, maybe crack a joke to switch that anxious expression into a smile or a scowl. But frankly today is different; Seungcheol feels it, too. His chest is full up to his throat with emotions he can’t name—all for his mate.

“Don’t say that Jihoonie. They’re going to _love_ you.” Seungcheol improvises, kissing the tip of Jihoon's nose, the divot of his upper lip.

Jihoon can't hide from him like this. He can't avoid the devotion that Seungcheol presses into his skin with his lips, kissing his way along Jihoon’s throat, his chest, his stomach.

Maybe it’s a testament to how far they’ve come that Jihoon lets him, doesn’t try and wriggle away as Seungcheol whispers assurances, tracing his tongue along Jihoon’s ribs as they rise and fall in unsteady breaths.

“You’re going to be the one who makes everything right, the one they want to sleep next too after they have nightmare—so I’ll get relegated to the guest room. They’re going to cry when you leave them with me—they’ll be homesick for you only. You’ll be the one they want to cuddle up to when they’re sad—because you smell like home. You’re going to be the protective one who confronts anyone who tries to pick on them, a real papa bear on the school run. I can see you now—going to all the PTA meetings—shaking your fist at the teacher, _‘What do you mean they got an A in maths? They deserved an A+’_.” Seungcheol demonstrates, finishing with a kiss to the soft place under the corner of Jihoon's jaw.

Jihoon chokes out a peel of laughter, eyes a little wet. His cheek is hot under Seungcheol’s hand when he eases their mouths together and his lips tremble against Seungcheol’s, but when he pulls away it's to show a slow curving smile.

“I love you.” Jihoon says, nuzzling at Seungcheol's cheek as he says it.

“I love you too.” Seungcheol answers, brushing his lips lightly over the corner of Jihoon’s mouth

Seungcheol chooses that moment to slide two fingers inside him, twisting them just so that Jihoon writhes against him. Seungcheol grips his hip hard with his free hand, breath coming hot and quick on Jihoon's skin.

"We will balance each other out—like we always have. It will be perfect." Seungcheol murmurs, sucking bruises into the soft skin of Jihoon's belly as he works him open with sure fingers. Jihoon nods and stretches to meet him, back coming off the bed each time Seungcheol pulls out.

He slides in a third finger, working him wider still. It’s something Seungcheol has done many times before and under many different circumstances, but never like this, never with the express purpose of getting Jihoon ready for his cock so he can fill him with come as many times as it takes before there’s a baby beginning to grow inside him.

“Neither of us are going to be any kind of dads if you don’t hurry the fuck up.” Jihoon huffs, on the verge of rolling his eyes, but then Seungcheol slips inside him, bare and hard and languid as he can bear, and they roll back for a different reason.

“ _Oh_ ,” chokes Jihoon, clenching hard around him with every limb. “Fuck—that— _yes_.”

“Okay?” Seungcheol asks, even though the answer is evident in every bowstring-taut inch of Jihoon’s frame.

Jihoon swears and arches into it, wrapping his legs around Seungcheol's waist and holds on as Seungcheol fucks into him over and over.

His cock is nearly flush with his stomach, velvet-smooth and so hard it’s a miracle Jihoon’s managed to keep from coming this long. Seungcheol touches it tenderly and he swears again, sinking his nails into Seungcheol’s shoulders and somehow hitching his legs still higher.

“Feel that?” Seungcheol curls his hands over the crests of his hips and thrusts into him even harder. Jihoon’s fingernails leave burning trails up his back when Seungcheol licks the sweat from his upper lip and then presses his tongue inside. “I’ll have you so nice and full it’ll feel like you’re pregnant already, then knot you good and tight until I can fuck you all over again.”

Jihoon has his mouth sealed over the pulse in Seungcheol’s neck, probably in the process of leaving behind a mark it’s going to be hell to hide for work, but the groan that escapes him is still pornographically loud.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol breathes, licking hotly up behind one of Jihoon’s red-stained ears, “that’s it, Hoonie, let me hear it. Gonna stuff you so full of come you won’t be able to fucking  _walk_  when I’m done with you and you’ll love every second of it, won’t you?”

The  _yes_  Jihoon utters sounds as if it’s being wrenched out of him with red-hot pokers.

Seungcheol moves in him with silent intensity, cajoling him into kiss after kiss until Jihoon is too busy gasping to keep up and Seungcheol has to settle for kissing him everywhere else he can reach instead. He’s still giddy with it, knowing he’s going to be doing more than just coming inside Jihoon this time, going to keep knotting him until it’s enough, until it  _takes_.

Just _thinking_ it literally takes his breath away.

Of course, if everything goes according to plan, Seungcheol realises he won’t be able to manhandle Jihoon like a ragdoll for much longer, no matter how much they both enjoy it, so there’s no sense in letting a perfectly good opportunity go to waste.

When Seungcheol pulls out only to grab hold of Jihoon under the knees and roughly turn him over, Jihoon’s only response is to clutch the covers and press his ass back like he’s being paid for it. And damn it all if that doesn’t have Seungcheol fighting for breath all over again.

“Don’t  _stop_ ,” Jihoon orders, muffled, oblivious. The glisten of his lube is filthily evident between his legs. Seungcheol draws the head of his cock up the smear of it on Jihoon’s thigh to press it up inside him again, letting the tip of it tease at Jihoon’s hole.

Under him, Jihoon arches and shoves his hips even higher, presenting himself to be fucked all over again. His legs are spread and his back is a flushed, smooth curve of muscle and bone that undulates beautifully beneath Seungcheol’s tongue.

 “I won’t. Trust me.” Seungcheol says, shifting back, hauling on Jihoon's hips for better leverage, “Won’t stop till you’re carrying my pups.” He growls.

Thrumming with urgency now, the animal in him needing to take what’s his, he slides in. It's deliciously raw, skin on skin with only a sheen of Jihoon’s lube between them.

Seungcheol grips Jihoon’s hair and pulls back his head, sucks bruises into wherever his mouth touches skin. Jihoon keens, and Seungcheol rumbles his approval and thrusts in hard, his body taking the friction it desires.

On the next thrust Jihoon pushes back into Seungcheol’s hips, and a moment later they've found their rhythm, moving slow and deliberate and exquisite, Seungcheol leaning down so his front is draped over Jihoon's back, sweat springing up between them, Seungcheol’s hot face between Jihoon's shoulder blades.

Unthreading his fingers from the Jihoon’s hair, Seungcheol takes hold of his hips, pressing Jihoon's thighs further apart with his own, thrusting his hips hard and steady and breathing in the smell of him. Memorizing the taste of Jihoon’s skin, whispering Jihoon’s name into the heated shell of his ear.

“ _Seungcheol_!” Jihoon cries his name, every part of him is pleading for harder until Seungcheol takes him that way: facedown with his legs wide open, mouth parted and gasping, one reddened cheek pressed to the bedding.

When Jihoon comes for him, it’s with both hands tangled with Seungcheol’s own on top of the mattress. Climaxing just like that, just from the pressure and the drill of Seungcheol’s cock inside him.

Through it all, Jihoon writhes for him, pants for him and clenches for him and makes Seungcheol want him that much  _more_.

Seungcheol savours it, each and every little shivering shudder of Jihoon’s body against his own. Absolutely fucking loves it.

Jihoon is gripping at the edge of the mattress for dear life since somehow they seem to have ended up sprawled crosswise, but he still takes everything Seungcheol gives him, spilling out small cries and a ardent reel of  _harder, come on, fil me, come in me, you feel so fucking good Cheollie_  until Seungcheol catches him around the waist and hauls him back towards the centre of the bed.

He finishes fucking the Omega like that, coming with a groan that ends up mostly muffled by Jihoon’s nape and mostly overpowered by the far more impressive scream Jihoon releases in response to his knot suddenly swelling and filing him wide.

When his knot stops swelling, Seungcheol’s on his knees, straddling one of Jihoon’s legs and essentially slumped over the rest of him. It’s not exactly the most practical position to knot it—but it is the _deepest_ , and Seungcheol can feel the delicious tug and drag on his shaft as Jihoon’s hole tries to milk him for all he’s worth.

“Stay,” says Jihoon, twisting to clumsily wrap an arm around him even though the heat between them is ruthless. “Don’t pull out completely when you finish. Keep it in me for round two.”

Seungcheol rocks into him a little, enough to send sparks of pleasure through them both. “Gladly.”

* * *

 

After round six, when Seungcheol’s knot eventually shrinks enough to ease out of him, Jihoon tumbles into an indecent sprawl beside him, pliant and smiling the vague little smile he inevitably wears after a thorough fuck.

There are creases on one side of his face from pushing it into the sheets. Seungcheol presses his mouth to one of them, then contents himself with nestling his own face against Jihoon’s stomach all over again until Jihoon objects to the stubble burn and shifts down until they’re eye to eye.

Seungcheol draws him close. “What do you want to eat? I’ll make you anything, or I can order in if you don’t want to wait.”

But Jihoon doesn’t answer, not even to make a half-assed threat about dying from hunger like he usually does. He squirms when Seungcheol pulls him to sprawl on top of him, unhappy lines crossing his face.

Seungcheol nudges a kiss to the one alongside his mouth. “What’s with the face? What’s the matter?”

“I feel it coming out.” Jihoon huffs, pauses then and presses his face to Seungcheol’s neck. “I don’t want to be  _empty_.”

At first, Seungcheol doesn’t understand. When he lets his touch dip lower, he can feel the slickness of his own come between the cheeks of Jihoon’s ass, and Jihoon just frowns harder, dismayed. “Seungcheol, don’t, I want to keep it inside.”

Seungcheol grins and traces two fingers over his cheek, “I just knotted you six times, there’s bound to be a little excess cum Hoonie—it doesn’t take that much to get you pregnant.”

Jihoon squirms again. “I said what I said--” he starts, but he seems mollified when Seungcheol shushes him.

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry. I have just the thing.” He rolls over to fetch the box from under the bed, noting when he comes back up that Jihoon seems much more at ease when he sights the plug.

When Seungcheol slips the plug into him, Jihoon only tenses for the most fleeting of moments before letting out a sigh and taking it into himself to the hilt. “There we go, puddin” Seungcheol murmurs. “Is that better?” He can’t resist giving a little shove to the base of it.

Jihoon gives a delicious little whimper and flicks his tongue against Seungcheol’s ear, biting the edge of it. “This is just temporary while we eat,” he warns, obviously trying to sound menacing even though he’s lax and smiling against the side of Seungcheol’s face. “I need the real thing in me again soon.”

“Of course, puddin.” Seungcheol says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, holding on a little tighter.

* * *

 

Of all the things Jihoon’s going to miss when he’s pregnant, surprisingly, post-coital knotting is top of the list.

It was never something he expected to enjoy as an Omega; it limits his range of motion, after all, and it often means pulling a muscle or having a limb fall asleep from an uncomfortable starting position.

But now, lying on their sides with Seungcheol plugging him full with come, Jihoon realises how much he’s going to miss this level of intimacy. How much he’s going to miss having heats!

 _Fuck_ —he’s going to be heat free for nine months.

Seungcheol talks idly as they lie there, in stops and starts, apparently unbothered by Jihoon’s inability to respond in anything more than grunts.

Jihoon’s falling asleep, he thinks, except that every time his eyes slip shut Seungcheol remembers some other story he wants to share.

Jihoon doesn’t mind. He likes hearing Seungcheol’s voice, his low Daegu drawl, feel the working of Seungcheol’s muscles under him as Seungcheol moves to gesticulate or to pet Jihoon.

Those movements are starting to take a very decisive turn, though. “What...” Jihoon mumbles, clenching around Seungcheol’s cock. It ought to have softened and slipped out of Jihoon by now, but while the knot has loosened enough to allow them to separate, Seungcheol is still hard.

Hard and moving inside him, to be precise, although the motions are almost small enough to ignore.

“Are you,” Jihoon says, pressing back against Seungcheol before he can think better of it. “Again? Already?”

“Are you complaining?” Seungcheol licks two fingers and rubs them against the head of Jihoon’s cock, which has swelled tellingly. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“No,” Jihoon manages to gasp. “Not complaining.” He pushes Seungcheol’s shoulder so that he lies on his back, with Jihoon straddling him.

Slowly, slowly he rocks over Seungcheol, riding him, eyes slipping shut of their own accord. His arms feel like putty but his legs have the strength to hold on to Seungcheol and move.

Jihoon sinks down, kissing Seungcheol’s mouth and his jaw and lower, biting at his collarbone and his nipples. It’s an awkward bend, but at the moment Jihoon’s spine feels like it was replaced with taffy, like everything in Jihoon is warm and flowing.

“M—so- _flexible_ ,” he informs Seungcheol with a semblance of coherence.

Seungcheol laughs. “If you say so, puddin.”

Jihoon supposes he wasn’t that coherent after all.

Whatever. It’s late and it’s been a long day, but Jihoon’s not one to slack off on finishing what he’s started, especially if it involves orgasms.

Okay, no, Seungcheol started it this time, but Jihoon’s not going to get hung up on a technicality here.

He plants his hands down and digs his toes in the blanket for purchase. He can move now, just as he wants, feel Seungcheol’s cock fill him slow and delicious.

If he rolls his hips just so, he can get a slick, seemingly-unending in-and-out motion that has him tossing his head back and moaning aloud. Seungcheol’s noises are a rumble in his chest, Jihoon feels them in his thighs and forearms, and that’s fucking delicious too.

His orgasm catches Jihoon almost by surprise, abruptly sends him tightening over Seungcheol’s dick and spilling hotly over his chest.

“Fuck—yes. That’s it. Come for me baby.” Seungcheol groans, tilting his hips up.

Seungcheol hasn’t swelled yet, so Jihoon fucks himself hard on his cock, grinning closed-eyed at the sensation, at last coming to rest sitting on Seungcheol and just squeezing him tight with everything Jihoon’s got.

“C’mon.” Jihoon whines. “ _Fill me.”_

Jihoon’s about to squirm free, but Seungcheol rolls them over, though, distracts Jihoon with kisses to his neck so that Jihoon doesn’t understand what he’s doing until he feels Seungcheol’s finger easing into him alongside his cock.

Reflexively, Jihoon jumps.

He can handle the stretch, God knows, but it’s sudden and the implication of it make him dizzy. “Ahh—fuck Cheol, too much.” he says, dredging the words from the depth of his mind. “I can’t.”

Seungcheol crooks his finger, and Jihoon’s cock gives a small but noticeable leap, some wetness leaking out of Jihoon where Seungcheol has opened him further. “Try,” he says, coaxing Jihoon to relaxation with kisses and murmurs.

It’s a deadly combination, Seungcheol’s dick thick and blunt in him, his finger agile, mercilessly pushing Jihoon’s buttons until he has no choice but to bear down, gasping. Full, unbelievably full, not just at his entrance where the knot would stretch him but further down inside.

“Cheollie—please!”

When Seungcheol pushes the second finger in, fucking him slowly with his cock all the while, Jihoon’s completely hard and teetering on the edge of coming, held off by the barest hint of self-control and Seungcheol’s whispered, “Not yet, puddin, hang on for me.”

Jihoon’s trying, he  _is_ , but then the rhythm of Seungcheol’s breathing changes, the cadence of his thrusts becoming sharper, and Jihoon says, “Now, now, it has to be now, fill me!” like he’s choking on the words.

Seungcheol pulls his fingers away abruptly. Jihoon has only a moment to feel the loss before Seungcheol’s cock swells bigger and seals them together again.

“Oh yeah, yeah—oh god.”

Jihoon climaxes to the feel of Seungcheol’s hot come washing deep inside him, filling him good and wet.

He closes his eyes and tries to get his heartbeat and breathing to settle. It takes a while. He turns his face upwards, meanwhile, because Seungcheol usually takes that as a hint to smother him with kisses and, well, he isn’t wrong.

He’s managed to just about calm back down when Seungcheol starts nosing his neck with a purposeful motion, sucking Jihoon’s earlobe into his mouth as he starts trying to fuck into him, knot and all.

Jihoon groans with a realization. “You weren’t kidding when you said you’re not going to stop.” He also angles his face to give Seungcheol better access. Jihoon’s tired and all, but Seungcheol’s mouth on his skin feels too good to pass up.

“Not even a little.” Seungcheol wiggles his tongue in a way that makes Jihoon squeak. “Unless you need a break, that is. Changed your mind?”

Jihoon lets his eyes slip close and his muscles relax, because he knows the importance of a good ploy. He lets Seungcheol slow down, get smug, confident, and then he tenses and flips them over again.

“Hell no,” he says with a smirk that Seungcheol answers with great and obvious glee.

* * *

 

They must nap a little, in the end, because when Jihoon opens his eyes again there’s light coming through a gap in the curtains and he’s got a crick in his neck from lying over Seungcheol’s arm.

Worth it, though. So damn worth it.

Jihoon leaves the bed on trembling legs, barely carrying his own weight. He feels so full, dizzy from lack of sleep and from so many orgasms he lost count.

Their bedroom has a large En-suite, and Jihoon tumbles into the warm water with a deep sigh of joy. He rinses off perfunctorily, before propping a leg on the tub and reaching behind himself to ease the plug out with a hiss.  

Sometime later (Jihoon might have been standing under the hot water doing nothing but soaking), there’s a knock on the door. “Be right out!” Jihoon yells, hastily scrubbing.

“No, stay inside. I’ll join you.” Seungcheol says, muffled by the door and the water but still clearly audible.

Jihoon turns his face up into the stream, closing his eyes.

He hears Seungcheol come in, closing the door. There’s a burst of cold when Seungcheol pushes the shower curtain back, then greater warmth when his mate closes up behind him, his hands wrapping around Jihoon, linking over his solar plexus.

Jihoon slouches back against him. “Good morning, Cheollie.” His hand goes up to touch Seungcheol’s cheek.

“Mmm—Morning puddin.” Seungcheol nuzzles behind Jihoon’s ear.

“Hope you didn’t have any, uh, plans today.” Jihoon wants to clean up, eat some food, and go back to sleep for a few hours. He feels lazier than normal during heat, but then again it might be an effect of coming off the contraceptives.

He also feels more settled that usual. More _relaxed_. Odd.

Normally, on his second day of heat he’d be going a little wet and open just from Seungcheol’s proximity, but his body is staying resolutely shut for once.

“Nothing more important than this.” Seungcheol maps out Jihoon’s body as if he’s never touched it before, a hand moves down to his stomach, briefly petting there, then down to Jihoon’s entrance, gentle and exploratory. “Sorry, just want to make certain everything’s in good order.”

So Jihoon lets Seungcheol drop to his knees behind him, look at Jihoon, carefully prod him. Jihoon winces, even so.

Seungcheol grimaces in sympathy. “Hurts?” he kisses the top of Jihoon’s thigh. “ _Sorry_. Shouldn’t have left it in so long.”

Jihoon gives a shaky smile and says, “No, it was good. I loved it.”

“Mmm,” Seungcheol says appreciatively, standing again. “Have to be more careful with you from now on. No rough housing now that you’re carrying my pups.” Seungcheol purrs, pushing his face into Jihoon’s neck.

“You can’t know that already.” The protestation is automatic, Jihoon’s tone rising sharply when Seungcheol’s jaw tightens on the soft skin behind his ear.

Seungcheol inhales, deep and pointedly. “Yes, _I can.”_

Jihoon freezes, rock-still as Seungcheol kisses his shoulders, licking water off his skin with the flat of his tongue. “It’s—it’s gotta be too early to know. We j—just started.” He stammers.

Seungcheol pauses and looks up, gaze practically pinning Jihoon to the shower wall. _“I know,”_ he says with finality.

Jihoon’s next breath hitches, and his eyes flutter shut. His palms move to splay low over his belly.

“How?” He whispers after a long spell of silence, not opening his eyes.

His heart jumps into his throat and Seungcheol steps up behind him, sliding his own hands around to cover Jihoon’s. “Your scent is completely different. And—can’t you feel that your heat is over?”

Jihoon blinks.

Seungcheol’s right. Jihoon’s skin is cool to the touch, not a trace of the heat fever left. At the best of times, a heat might end after a couple of days of intense fucking. There’s really only one thing that can stop it dead in its tracks, and all of a sudden it feels like there’s not enough air in the bathroom.

Jihoon turns his head to meet Seungcheol’s eyes. “That—that was quick.”

“Yup. Less than fifteen hours.” Seungcheol says, settling his palm to the flat of Jihoon’s belly, touch close to the life he put there.

Even though his heat is over, Jihoon feels a decidedly warm and fuzzy sensation fill his heart—not that he’ll ever share that particular cliché out loud, but the soft happiness is there, nonetheless “I...” he almost chokes on it, but he makes himself say it. “I’m pregnant.”

Seungcheol stops smoothing his hands back and forth over his stomach. He lifts his hands a little lower, lets his fingers graze Jihoon’s hip bones. “Yeah. Are you okay?”

A heartbeat later Jihoon’s fingers slide over his, guiding them back to his belly and pressing them down against his skin. “I—I feel... I feel really good, actually.” His fingers flex, suddenly anxious. “I need to be sure. I— _fuck_ —I don’t have a test kit.”

“It’s okay.” Seungcheol murmurs, low and soothing in his ear. “I’ll go out and buy one.”

Jihoon flings the shower curtain aside, climbing out eagerly. “I’m coming with you. You’ll buy the wrong one.”

“What?” Seungcheol laughs, stumbling out after him. “How can I buy the wrong test kit? How many types are there?”

* * *

Seungcheol drives them to the store, fingertips numb on the steering wheel, flicking happy glances at Jihoon the entire way.

Turns out—there are twelve million different types of post heat pregnancy test kits.  

Okay—it’s more like _seven_ if accuracy is important. But Jihoon’s glad he came anyway because Seungcheol just fills his shopping basket with two of each type and starts making a beeline for the check out.

“What are you doing?” Jihoon catches him by the elbow, before he can disappear down the aisle in his excitement. “We don’t need that many—I don’t have that much piss to test with!” Jihoon stage whispers.

Seungcheol huffs out a frustrated lungful of air and drops his gaze to the basket in his hand.

“But how do we know which one to buy? Why are there so many ways to tell you the same thing?”

“Maybe there is somebody we could ask…” Jihoon trails off, glancing around the store for an assistant. But when he tries to wander off Seungcheol hauls him back, by fisting a handful of his sweater like he's afraid of being left by himself among the pregnancy test kits. So, ok then.

Jihoon sighs and takes the basket from Seungcheol, “I’ll check them out—just gab another basket and pick up some essentials. I’ll meet you at the check-out in fifteen minutes.”

Seungcheol nods and marches off with purpose.

Jihoon realises a second too late he should have written him a list; Seungcheol gets carried away when he doesn’t have a set grocery list and Jihoon just _knows_ they’re going to end up with another fifty jars of mayonnaise because _‘they were on offer Hoonie!’_.

Jihoon spends at least ten minutes trying to work out how each test kit works. Because, damn it, he's not making more than one trip.

From what he’s read on the back of the packaging so far, one of them gives you little blue cross, one a clear line, and another gives you two pink lines.

Then there is the fancy _digital_ one that just flashes up ‘ _pregnant’_ and another brand that gives a _‘Yes+/No-’_ result. Some are suitable for early detection in Omega’s, some are just marked as universal use for Beta’s and female Alpha’s. Some even tell you how many weeks along you are—provided that you are an Alpha-mated Omega.

 _Honestly_? Why does everything have to be so complicated?

Jihoon picks up the two most expensive ones and decides to compare them again and is vaguely aware of an Alpha male walking down the aisle towards him.

Since mating with Seungcheol, Jihoon doesn't possess the magnified senses he once had, but he's been loomed over enough to get a feel for an Alpha’s particular flavour. The man comes to a stop behind him, standing far enough that doesn't feel immediately threatening but definitely gives Jihoon the heebie-jeebies when he’s trying to focus.

Maybe the guy just wants to pick up a kit too, and Jihoon _is_ sort of in the way and messing up the display by hogging all the kits.

“Sorry—I’ll be out of your way in a sec.” Jihoon mumbles quietly over his shoulder.

He recognizes his voice first. It’s unmistakable. “It’s okay, take your time, _Jihoon_.”

And those are the last words Jihoon can make out over the rush of blood in his ears as he turns his head and comes face to face with that last person he ever wanted to see again.

His father.


	2. Gestation

“Just—calm down.”

His father looks different. Older. And not just because of the hair greying around the temples, or the wrinkle lines around his mouth.

He looks _tired;_ dark bruise like circles under his eyes and sunken in cheeks.

It's amazing how deflated he appears, but not having your daily punching bag around can do that do a person.

 _"How’d you find me!”_ Jihoon manages to say after his heart rate slows to normal and his hands can stop shaking, words more a statement than a question.

“I’ll admit it wasn’t easy. You-covered you tracks well. But your mother saw a picture of you online, a University awards ceremony for your final years project. She couldn’t believe it—she’s spent hours every day, for the last three years going through university enrolment rosters, trying to find pictures of you, or even a mention of your name anywhere. We figured you’d pursue music, so we narrowed it down to a handful of colleges. But we never got lucky, till then.”

Jihoon’s reaction is explosive. “You were at my graduation— _weren’t you_.” he spits, voice trembling with fury and a dozen emotions he can’t name.

“Yes. Of course. Your mother couldn’t make it—she’s…” He swallows thickly like his voice would waver otherwise. “But I took pictures. She’s so proud, we-”

Jihoon shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear this.

“Why were you even _looking_?” He hisses.

His father frowns, eyes level and curious on Jihoon’s. “Because you’re our son.”

Jihoon hears himself exhale laughter, one quick burst of sound.

He’s been waiting for years, hoping and dreaming and wishing with every fibre of his being that he’d hear those words from this man one day, but this here now—this is just _cruel_.

“Fuck you.” He manages around hysterical, breathless laughter. He’s _laughing,_ and he doesn’t know _why_. “Fuck you. I am _not_ your son.”

He tries to side step the man, needing to be as far away as possible and quickly too.

“Jihoon..” His father says, trying to grab his wrist. Jihoon spins on his heels and pulls his hand sharply, knocking the man slightly off-balance.

“Don’t.” Jihoon bites out, single syllable cutting and sharp. “Just go away. I’ve had four perfect years away from you—you gave me _nothing_ my whole life—just give me this. _Just leave me alone.”_

“I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. It’s why we waited so long to reach out.” His father tries.

Jihoon shakes his head again, dizzy and a bit sick. His ears are ringing. This is all starting to feel like a terrible unfunny joke played on him by the universe.

His father is extending his hands, speaking softly like he is trying to calm a spooked horse. “Just listen—”

Jihoon easily moves out of reach. His eyes dart up and down the man’s body, taking him in. Jihoon has no weapons, but his father is older now and Jihoon can take him, knows it without question in the abrupt clarity of his thoughts. He’d just need to step back a bit, reach for a can or shove the man into a shelf….

But he doesn’t have to.

Because, suddenly— there's a slow scrape of boots near the top of the aisle and Jihoon’s father looks up, startled.

Seungcheol is there, standing a few feet away, dividing a look between them, and quickly putting two and two together.

He stands frozen for a moment, then growls darkly, the slow, lawnmower grate that sounds like it's coming from a huge animal that desperately wants to rip something apart.

“Oh—shit.” His father says, voice quietly careful, as if he doesn't want to make too much noise, but Jihoon thinks he can hear the thready note of panic anyway.

Seungcheol’s on Jihoon’s father like a storm.

He grabs the offending hand and wrenches it behind his father’s back, hard enough to illicit a pained yelp. Clamps his other hand on the man’s opposite shoulder and yanks him away from Jihoon. He pivots, prey in his grasp, and shoves the man against the opposite shelf of the aisle.

His father bounces off the shelf with the force, stumbles and falls to the ground. Seungcheol steps out in front of Jihoon angling his body protectively in front of him.

“I promised myself I’d kill you if I ever met you,” He says, in a low almost-whisper. He follows after the slumped man and stiffens like he’s about to kick him.

And then Jihoon is there, sliding both arms around Seungcheol’s waist from behind, voice whispering reassurances in his ear. “No, Seungcheol. Don’t.”

Seungcheol growls over his shoulder at Jihoon, resentful of the intrusion. _“_ But _—for you.”_ He grunts, hands tightening into fists, muscles quivering from the effort of restraint. But Jihoon drapes himself across Seungcheol’s back and leans in to nuzzle.

“No Puppy.” Jihoon begs him, swallowing hard against the tightness of his throat. And then, “Remember why we’re here. I need you to stop and think. I need you to come home with me. _We_ need you.”

A few tense moments pass where Jihoon is terrified Seungcheol’s going to attack regardless.

But his answering growl is softer, and tapers off into a soft whine as the tension drops out of him abruptly.

He spins and pulls Jihoon into a hug, sniffing his hair instinctively.

“Good boy. _Thank you_.” Jihoon smiles warmly, shutting his eyes and leaning into Seungcheol as he leans down to nuzzle.

“You—you found a mate? An _alpha_?” His father stammers, staring up at them, shaking and crazy-eyed.

Jihoon ignores him.

“I found what we need, lets go.” Jihoon tells Seungcheol gently, hand tugging Seungcheol’s as he leads him out the door.

They make it out of the store before they both stop by some unspoken mutual agreement and stare up at the sky. The outdoors seems only just big enough to hold the storm of conflicting feelings Jihoon’s carrying with him.

But, he can breathe again, and he does, taking huge gulps of air into his lungs, trying to remain quiet and not cause a scene.

* * *

 

When they walk through the front door of their home, Seungcheol’s hand is on his shoulder, suddenly, guiding Jihoon over to sit on the couch. It’s a good show too because Jihoon’s legs have gone wobbly and he’s not sure he can tell which way is up.

He gets horizontal for a while, shutting his eyes and listening as Seungcheol packs away the groceries.  When he opens them, Seungcheol is hovering over where he is sprawled on the couch, expression unreadable as he leans over him.

Jihoon sits up, resting his neck back against the rest and tucking his legs neatly under him. His head is pounding, a raging headache coming on fast, but a glance at the coffee table reveals a steaming cup of tea, a glass of water and two paracetamols.

“Is that for me?”

Seungcheol nods.

“Thanks, babe.” Jihoon smiles, wobbly and weak. He reaches over to down the tablets with some water quickly, before lifting the mug and sipping obediently at the tea. “You always know what I need.”

Seungcheol smiles back, then in the blink of an eye he almost looks _distraught_ , face scrunched and helpless. It still startles Jihoon after all this time.

“Jihoon—I’m so sorry.” Seungcheol says, his voice pitched low and soft.

Jihoon audibly startles. “What on earth for?”

“I—don’t know.” Seungcheol says, honestly sounding like he doesn't. He scrapes his fingers around the nape of his neck and sighs heavily, “I’m your mate. Your Alpha. I should have protected you—but I couldn’t even do that right.” He murmurs, sounding numb and empty.

Jihoon gapes openly at him for a long moment. He doesn’t know how to respond to that, his mind whirring and failing to catch up.

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. He wants to _shake_ some sense into Seungcheol.

Setting the cup off to the side, Jihoon pats the couch beside him instead, and Seungcheol comes as beckoned, settling stiffly next to Jihoon.

He’s looking like he wants to grab Jihoon and pull him close, but he hesitates before touching him, hands hovering just above Jihoon’s arms, shaking as if it hurts him to have that inch of space between them. He settles for curving a hand around Jihoon’s thigh, pressing up against his side and making a quiet whine of satisfaction in Jihoon’s hair.

Jihoon curves a hand around the back of Seungcheol’s neck, stroking against the soft hair at his nape, angling his head for a gentle kiss.

“Seungcheol. Please don’t be sorry. You have nothing to apologise for. Oh—god, just don’t—don’t even think about it. I love you, I love that you’re gentle—that you’re my soft Alpha who doesn’t have to hurt anybody to make me feel safe.”

Seungcheol meets his gaze head-on, dark eyes gone black with surging emotions. “But I _wanted_ to hurt him—like he hurt you.”

Jihoon shakes his head emphatically, blinking away the hot burn that builds up behind his eyes. “No. I _never_ want you to do that. Think of what could have happened if you lost control. You could have been locked up Cheol— _away from me._ ”

Seungcheol makes a sound of distress, a sound that dies when Jihoon forges on. “You’ve already repaired all that hurt they caused. They’re nothing to me now. I have a new family now. It’s just us,” Jihoon says, grabbing Seungcheol’s hand and placing it over his stomach. ** _“Us.”_**

Seungcheol lifts his head, hand splayed across Jihoon’s stomach and eyes searching on his. He must have found what he’s looking for, because he nods once before his expression evolves into  _something_ , unyielding and unshakable.

Jihoon pushes his hands under the warmth of Seungcheol’s T-shirt, until he has hands full of material, and pulls. They kiss hard and desperate and wanting, throwing themselves into it as much as they can as their emotions surge, then ebb.

It takes Jihoon a while to get around to the question he wants to ask, because kissing Seungcheol is insane levels of distracting, but he eventually does manage to get his mouth free.

“Shall we?” Jihoon murmurs, gesturing to the test kit sitting on the coffee table—still wrapped in a brown paper bag.

Seungcheol’s forehead presses against his temple, heavy and warm, “Yeah.”

* * *

 

Jihoon’s standing in the bathroom, nervously shifting his weight from foot-to-foot as he waits.

On the edge of the sink is perched a little plastic stick with a window in it.

It takes five minutes to give you a result, which is amazing in this day and age, but still feels like _forever_ to Jihoon.

He checks his phone screen, where a timer is counting down from under a minute.

Seungcheol made a crack about how he can’t believe no one’s invented an iPhone app where you piss onto the touch screen, and Jihoon kicked him out of the bathroom for trying to lighten the mood.

He’s beginning to feel guilty about it, until he spares a glance at the test stick— and the little blue cross appears in the window.

His throat goes dry and his ears are ringing with shock. He swallows, blinks. Stares some more.

Definitely a blue cross.

He snatches up the plastic stick and obsessively compares it to the image on the back of the box about a million times.

Dazed, he eventually walks out of the bathroom to where Seungcheol is seated on the edge of the bed, fidgeting and biting his thumb. When he sees Jihoon, he stands up quickly.

"It’s positive," Jihoon whispers, holding up the stick, which when he thinks about it, is pretty gross. He probably shouldn’t be waving it around.

“It’s positive.” He repeats stupidly, feeling his shock recede enough for thought.

Seungcheol looks weirdly conflicted. “Positive for pregnancy? Or—positively not pregnant?”

Jihoon tries very hard not to give Seungcheol the eye roll that remark deserves. For someone who's supposed to be intelligent, Seungcheol has clueless stupidity down to an art, really. Anyone would think he practiced.

Jihoon rolls his eyes anyway and says, “I’m pregnant you dumbass!”

Seungcheol doesn't seem to mind the sharp tone, because he crosses the room and sweeps Jihoon into his arms.

Jihoon starts laughing as his Alpha babbles and kisses his face. "I’m so happy. I’m so—wait—hold on.”

Seungcheol drops down to his knees in front of him, eager hands trailing up under his sweater. It bunches up around his wrists, revealing a thin strip of black boxer-briefs, but Seungcheol pays them no attention. Instead, he rests his ear against Jihoon’s still flat stomach.

Jihoon blinks down at him. “What are you doing?”

“ _Listening_.” Seungcheol whispers, dark eyes glowing softly up at him.

“For what?” Jihoon laughs, “You can’t hear anything yet. It’s microscopic right now you dolt.”

 _“Jihoon—please."_ Seungcheol shushes him. "I’m trying to communicate with my pups.”

Jihoon smiles, watching as his Alpha cradles the still flat softness of his stomach over the waistband of his underwear. Seungcheol traces over it with his thumbs, tickling—until Jihoon's pale fingers wrap loosely around his wrists in objection.

“I’ll have to make an appointment with the doctor for next week.” Jihoon says, biting his lip. “Do you want to be there?”

“Of course.” Seungcheol gasps, “I want to be there for every moment.”  

* * *

**  2 WEEKS **

Footsteps pad into the bathroom, and Jihoon groans over the toilet bowl, shooing him away. Seungcheol, of course, ignores him.

“C'mon, puddin, up you get,” Seungcheol encourages, laying a warm hand on the back of his neck to caress his curls. “I’ll get you some ginger tea.”

“I hate morning sickness,” Jihoon rasps, flushing the toilet and letting Seungcheol pull him up onto his feet. “Who made up all this pregnancy-is-beautiful bullshit, anyway?”

The cool mint of his toothpaste chases the bitterness from his mouth, and he brushes vigorously, glancing at Seungcheol in the mirror. He's just watching, a half-smile on his face.

“I'm sure that ridiculous myth was perpetrated by those holistic 'earth mama' bullshit types,” Seungcheol says, very seriously. Something warm stirs in Jihoon's chest. “Now, what would you like for breakfast? I can make eggs, but I don't know if that would make the nausea—”

Jihoon’s stomach roils heavily and it’s a fast turn round to get onto his knees in front of the toilet, fling the lid up, hang his head over the bowl and heave once or twice.

“ _Okay_.” Seungcheol drawls, hovering in the margins of Jihoon’s vision, not willing to get very close to the action. “So, I take it ‘eggs’ are off the menu for the foreseeable future.”

* * *

**10 WEEKS**

Seungcheol wakes up and is surprised to find Jihoon still in bed with him, sprawled out on top of the covers next to him, snoring lightly.

It’s a nice surprise.

Usually, Jihoon’s bent over the toilet struggling with morning sickness right about now. But today, he's doesn’t appear to be the least bit nauseous.

When he wakes, Seungcheol rolls over, slides a sleep-heavy hand along Jihoon's belly. “You aren't throwing up.”

“Wonderful observation,” Jihoon dryly replies, sighing as Seungcheol’s palm rests on his stomach. “Morning sickness commonly stops around the end of the first trimester—guess I got lucky.”

“Good—hopefully your appetite will improve. You’ve lost too much weight. Need to fatten you up.”

Jihoon yawns, nudging him with a socked foot. “I could eat _now._ I’ve just realised how hungry I am.”

Seungcheol grins, delighted. “What would you like? I’ll get you anything, _cook_ anything.”

He expects Jihoon to be picky, to insist on having something ridiculous, but instead Jihoon frowns, thinking, and says, “Waffles. With strawberries. And bacon. Oh, and eggs. No, hash-browns. Actually”—

Seungcheol nods through a frown. “That’s pretty standard. Don’t you have any cravings?”

Jihoon purses his lips. “No. Guess not.”

 _Huh_. So much for crazy cravings.

This should be easy.

Of course, Seungcheol spoke too soon.

_Later that week....._

“Cheol—Cheol.” Jihoon whispers in his ear, nudging him awake.

Seungcheol blearily blinks sleep away, noting with mild annoyance that the clock reads one-fifteen in the morning.

“Go back to sleep, Hoonie.” Seungcheol says, though he barely moves his tongue or lips to say it and it comes out more like _‘Go—ack—o—Ssseelee.’_

Jihoon huffs out a petulant small sigh and pushes closer anyway, nosing Seungcheol’s earlobe. “But, I’m so _hungry_ ”

“Really?” says Seungcheol, trying and failing to blink his eyes open. “Do you want a midnight sandwich?” he says, cheerfully as he can while half-asleep.

“No.” Jihoon pouts, rubbing his belly. “I’m hungry for something else. I already checked the kitchen and we don’t have anything I want.”

“What _do_ you want?” Seungcheol says, startled and blinking as he checks his watch.

_Yep—it’s 1:15 am. Not many places open this time of night._

“I don’t want to tell you.” Jihoon sighs, rolling away. The headboard rattles quietly as he sits up against it. “You’ll think it’s gross.”

“Oh yeah?” Seungcheol grins, sitting up, interest properly piqued now. “I know pregnancy cravings can be pretty insane. I was kind of looking forward to yours actually, so I promise—I won’t judge.”

Jihoon huffs. He seems to be fighting some strange, inner impulse before he speaks.

“I want—I want—a _banana_.” Jihoon says, maybe a little petulantly.

Seungcheol eyes him incredulously. “That’s it _? A banana?_ I can get you a banana, _easy_.” He begins to say, but Jihoon’s shaking his head, flushing a little with frustration and embarrassment.

“ _Dipped_ in ketchup.” He adds in a weird, awed sort of voice.

"Uhh.." Seungcheol flounders for something that isn't an insult, something that doesn't in any way contain the words _'gross.'_

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” Jihoon says, dryly, glaring at Seungcheol for whatever expression he perceives on Seungcheol’s face.

Seungcheol just shakes his head and shrugs, because what does he care if Jihoon wants to eat gross things and put him off bananas and perhaps all food for the rest of his life.

“If that’s what you want—that’s what you’ll have.”

* * *

 

It doesn’t occur to Seungcheol until his groceries are being rung up what it looks like.

A bunch of bananas.

A bottle of tomato ketchup.

Toilet roll.

Packet of ginger biscuits.

The cashier is probably judging him.

“Erm,” Seungcheol starts. “It’s not what it looks like.” He says, belatedly realising—he’s not actually sure what it looks like _either_.

He gets an amused glance from the man, who bags his groceries without a single word.

“What?” Seungcheol says quietly, feeling like an idiot in the silence. 

“I’m just wondering why you need any of this stuff at one thirty-eight am. They’re hardly _‘kitchen staples’_ and couldn’t this wait till—I dunno—the _morning_?”

Seungcheol sighs wearily. “My mate’s pregnant. He’s got _cravings_.”

“For—bananas, ketchup and ginger biscuits?” The cashier asks innocently. He’s obviously starting to picture the recipe in his head and is trying not to gag at the thought.

“No. For bananas— _dipped_ in ketchup.” Seungcheol corrects, not sure why he’s continuing this conversation. “The ginger biscuits are for me.”

The cashier gags. _Actually_ gags all over Seungcheol’s groceries. He should probably be offended on Jihoon’s behalf or something.

“Oh—dude. Dude—oh. That’s gross. I’m sorry. _I’m so sorry_. Good luck with that.” The guys rambles, shaking his head.

“Thanks.” is all Seungcheol manages to get out.

* * *

 

“Hey Hoonie—I hope you’re still awake. _I got your stuff.”_ Seungcheol calls out, padding down the corridor towards the bedroom.

Jihoon is sprawled out on the comforter like a starfish. He’s claimed the entire bed for himself with his limbs--possibly even on purpose.

His eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. He’s wearing a sad looking pout.

“Cheol—I’m sorry.” He says, without opening his eyes.

Seungcheol pauses in the doorway, “What?” he says, worried he’s done the wrong thing.

Jihoon sighs heavily. “I changed my mind. I don’t want ketchup dipped bananas anymore—I want something else.”

“Yeah? What is it?” Seungcheol asks, honestly relieved. He’s prepared to go anywhere—get anything. Anything that isn’t bananas dipped in ketchup.

Jihoon licks his lips, troubled. “Chocolate ice cream.”

Seungcheol huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “That’s easy. I can get you that- “

“With pickles.” Jihoon adds.

_Dammit!_

* * *

**15 weeks**

The morning of their first ultrasound finds them stumbling out of bed at ten-o-clock, dishevelled and groggy.

The alarm had been set to ring at eight, a full three hours before Jihoon’s appointment at eleven.

Seungcheol briefly recalls sleepily mumbled curses and a roaming hand smashing the clock against the bedside table, and swears low under his breath. He lets Jihoon claim the shower, and focuses on getting dressed and making breakfast.

“We’re going to be late.” Seungcheol says, trying to eat toast and button his shirt at the same time. Which succeeds in accomplishing nothing but getting crumbs in awkward places.

Jihoon, meanwhile, has deemed it time to finish rinsing and is now shutting off the shower and emerging. His scowl from this morning has _deepened_. “Late for sitting in the waiting room and _waiting_ our appointment more like.” he grumbles, stepping out onto the bathmat.

Seungcheol gives him a curious glance. “What’s gotten into you puddin? Remember when you used to set your alarm fifteen minutes early, so you’d be painfully punctual for everything?”

There's a very long moment of pointed silence from Jihoon, as he pats his face dry with a towel—avoiding Seungcheol’s gaze.

“Yeah—well—pregnancy has changed me in innumerable ways.” he says, not entirely convincingly.

As excuses go, it’s an interesting one.

“I’ll say…” Seungcheol trails off, suddenly distracted by one very _new_ change.

And — oh.  _Wow_.

“What’s this?” Seungcheol asks, reaching out and preventing Jihoon from grabbing a towel.

The first trimester was hard on Jihoon’s body, with nausea stripping him of a few pounds he could ill afford to lose; but now he’s fifteen weeks gone the sickness has abated and he’s managed to regain the lost ground. He’s recovered his usual slim muscular build and not an ounce more.

Now, though — “When did this happen?” asks Seungcheol, fitting his palm over the small bump just under Jihoon’s navel.

Jihoon looks down, confused. “Jesus,” he says, “today, I guess. I didn’t even notice.” He knocks Seungcheol’s palm away, so he can see for himself.

“Wow. Pop. There it is.” He pushes at the bump, makes a visible effort to suck in his gut. His ribs go outlined and taut, his stomach caves into the soft place under his sternum, but the baby bump is stubbornly convex.

Seungcheol moves closer, cradling the bump in both hands and licking his lips. “Oh, _Woah_.” He sighs, not wasting an opportunity and dropping to his knees on the floor to appreciate it from a better angle.

He leans in to kiss the crest of the bump and Jihoon flicks him on the forehead. “Thought you said we’re going to be late?”

Seungcheol pouts. “Yeah—but—can’t I take a moment to appreciate this?”

“Fine—go ahead.” Jihoon drawls, though he’s still eyeing Seungcheol with confusion and suspicion, there'll be eye rolling in a minute too, he can feel it coming.

“Hello my precious puppies.” Seungcheol coos, kissing the swell of Jihoon’s belly. “I’m going to see you today. Yes, I am. I can’t wait.”

When he looks up, Jihoon is looking down at him, warmth in his gaze.

“Dork.” Jihoon smirks.

* * *

 

Seungcheol is right.

Jihoon is almost never late for _anything_ —especially appointments. Truth is, he heard the alarm go off, was practically awake when Seungcheol knocked it over in his half-asleep state and chose to ignore it.

He’d gone back to sleep. Didn’t even feel guilty, and now he accepts that subconsciously, he _wants_ to miss his appointment.

He’s nervous. He’s terrified actually.

Although he’s ecstatic to be pregnant, to be having Seungcheol’s pups—he’s nervous of what the ultrasound will reveal.

How many pups, and how healthy they’re progressing. Are the any abnormalities, unexpected complications that might affect him coming to term naturally. And then there’s the questions about— _status_.

It doesn’t do to think about it too much, so Jihoon doesn’t.

He puts it firmly out of his mind on the car ride to the clinic and he rather insistently focuses his attention on a golf magazine in the waiting room, even though he hates golf.

It’s better than looking up and round at the other patients.

Couples of all shapes, sizes and statuses are seated around them—waiting to be called for their appointment. Some of them already have infants in their arms, perhaps here for their post-natal medical. Some are older, clearly here for their second or third pregnancy.

Despite his apprehension, Jihoon’s encouraged by this—clearly childbirth isn’t _all_ that bad if some people decide to do it _multiple times._

He tries not to stare too much at the young couple seated across from them, fawning over their new born pup.

A few friends at work have had pups recently, and because Jihoon’s pregnant he somehow gets invited to the baby shower by default. He had to endure two fucking hours of drooling babies, fussy parents and ‘ _holistic health during pregnancy’_ bullshit for the privilege.

 _Pfftt_!

There was even an opportunity for him to hold the new born pup—though he turned it down. Babies are like Kryptonite, they bypass all the sensible parts of your brain. There's always that weird desire to do something embarrassing and stupid, like... talk gibberish or rub your face all over them or something.

It's probably unacceptable to rub your face all over babies that aren’t yours though. That shit would definitely get you thrown out of a hospital.

The one-time Jihoon’s steals a glance, the Omega sitting across from him cradling a new born smiles conspiratorially, and then starts unbuttoning his shirt and— _honest to God_ —starts _nursing_ the baby right there in the waiting room.

Jihoon thinks he goes hysterically blind for a bit.

_What the hell? People do that in public?_

_How is that comfortable?_

A quick head count reveals seven Alpha’s in the waiting room. Watching.

_Seriously? How can he…._

Jihoon flips the page and glares down at an ad for golf tees. They come in several colours, _apparently_.

Jihoon’s definitely not nursing in public. No way in hell.

He’ll just have to carry a pop up tent with him absolutely everywhere and erect it every time the babies need feeding. It will be inconvenient as fuck—but he’ll have to make do.

He glances sideways at Seungcheol to see if he’s noticed, but Seungcheol is very carefully _not_ watching the breastfeeding and free boob display going on in the corner, though he’s a little red in the cheeks as he studies a pamphlet with _way_ too much focus.

Jihoon elbows him in the side as subtly as he can manage. “Let’s just agree now—I’m _not_ nursing our pups in public. _Ever_.” He whispers out of the side of his mouth.

“Huh?” Seungcheol jerks his head towards him, looking startled. “Sorry, I didn’t get that. I was reading this pamphlet. Did—did you know that at fifteen weeks—the baby is the size of an apple.”

Jihoon did not know that. And if he’s being perfectly honest—he didn’t want to know that either.

“An _apple_ , Jihoon.” Seungcheol repeats—eyes wide, just in case Jihoon didn’t hear him the first time.

Seungcheol looks like he's trying really hard not to freak out, which under any other circumstances would be funny as hell.

Jihoon frowns. "I'm not sure I'm equipped to manage this panic attack. I'm still sort of in the middle of my own."

"Yes, but," Seungcheol manages, still stunned, "An _apple_. Babies are, like, very small apples." He holds out his hands in demonstration of the alarming smallness of babies—or perhaps apples. "And we're having one." He finishes with a murmur. The words are low, soft, fascinated.

Jihoon sighs and snatches the pamphlet out of his hand, folding it shut.

There is a picture of a baby on the front, with very little toes; tiny and rose-pink and curling. It fills Jihoon with a heavy maudlin feeling when he looks at them for too long.

Fucking hell. He doesn’t understand himself at all, sometimes.

He'd spent so many years mocking broody Omega’s, Seungcheol, practically anyone who goes soft over the mention of pups—and here he is pretty much living it.

* * *

 

But once they’re called into in the exam room there’s not nearly enough to distract him.

The inside of the room is brighter than the waiting area. It smells like baby powder and disinfectant. There’s an ultrasound machine in the corner, a box of gloves and a table.

The table has fucking _stirrups_.

When Jihoon strips down and gets on top of it—he feels _vulnerable_. The whole table feels like it's manhandling him, in a way that furniture shouldn't be allowed to. Jihoon hadn't known a table could feel like it was getting over-familiar with you, but there you go.

Seungcheol studies a model of the male uterine reproductive system sitting on the counter opposite, while Jihoon sits in a crackly paper gown and fidgets, practically hyperventilating at the thought of what is to come next.

It’s been years since he felt this much apprehension in a doctor’s office.

He reaches for Seungcheol’s hand, grasping it tightly, but doesn’t voice his unease.

At long last there’s the soft rattle on the other side of the door, the doctor taking his chart out of the plastic holder, and then she enters. She’s older, with a grey-threaded ponytail and a light Beta scent.

Jihoon feels a bit more at ease immediately. She reminds him of Seungcheol’s mum, a little.

“So-which one of you is pregnant?” she blurts out, before she gets around to introducing herself or even shaking hands.

Jihoon blinks and Seungcheol surreptitiously glances down at his stomach—perhaps kind of regretting the unflattering striped shirt he chose to wear.

The doctor bursts out into laughter. “Just kidding. I always like to open with a joke—set my patients at ease.”

Jihoon gives a brittle laugh. It’s not a _good_ laugh.

The doctor closes the door and walks over to the exam table, looking over Jihoon’s paperwork and no doubt noticing several gaps in his medical history he can’t account for from childhood.

“I know it’s not a full medical history, but I don’t have access to those records.” Jihoon blurts out—irrationally defensive.

The doctor sets the folder aside and steps closer. “Well, I’m sure we can do bloodwork for anything that’s missing. Don’t worry.” she says calmly enough.

Instead of starting off with a lot of stupid questions Jihoon can’t answer properly anyway, she just gestures for him to lie back on the table, rolls the ultrasound machine over and tugs up his paper gown.

Before she squirts the jelly on, though, she puts on gloves and palpates his stomach gently.

“Interesting,” she says, mouth twisting with faint polite amusement. She switches over to her stethoscope, listens to his stomach for long torturous seconds, moving the end around a few times.

“ _What_?” Jihoon asks, holding his breath.

“Oh. Nothing to worry about.” she says, smiling a little, studying Jihoon with a new focus.

There’s a long silence as the ultrasound machine powers up, during which Jihoon tries to pretend that he’s not bothered by her scrutiny, staring back at her steadily, as though he’s an open book.

He knows his panic is ridiculous. But that doesn’t stop his palms from sweating as she applies the jelly, smears it over the gentle bulge of his stomach.

Seungcheol perches on a tall stool next to the bed and watches, dark eyes sparking with the sort of alert intelligence and competence that never failed to make Jihoon feel secure when he was experiencing something new with his heats. It’s remarkable how well it works, even now.

“Looks a bit like lube, doesn't it,” Seungcheol whispers against his ear, grinning naughtily. The quip helps quell the nervous fluttering in his stomach.

“S'just as cold, that's for sure,” Jihoon murmurs back, glancing at the thankfully-oblivious doctor.

The ultrasound machine beside them beeps placidly, screen glowing as it starts up.

“We'll get started now,” the doctor says, smiling. “See what we can see.”

“Awesome.” Jihoon says, with a sort of jittery uncertainty.

He tightens his hold on Seungcheol’s hand, watching the wand travel over his stomach with interest, switching occasionally to stare at the screen.

It looks like a mess of grainy black-gray blobs, at first. Then the doctor makes some adjustments to the machine and the picture on the screen goes from blobby and confusing to — well. Blobby and confusing, but in _better focus_. 

“Ah, excellent,” says Jihoon, “we’re having a whole litter of blobs.”

The doctor chuckles. “Not everyone can see it clearly at first, but that’s why I’m here.” she says kindly, “Everything looks good, development is progressing as it should. See the baby's arms, there?” She says, pointing out on the screen.

Seungcheol leans in and squints at the screen. “Uh—No.”

She rolls her seat closer, now better able to poke at the monitor. “There,” she says, “that line, see?”

Seungcheol and Jihoon side- eye each other.

“All I see is blobs.” Jihoon says flatly.

“Beautiful, precious blobs. That we’re very happy about.” Seungcheol adds, as if that will help.

The doctor sighs and shifts the wand a bit. “Look,” she says, “there’s the head. And a leg?”

“Ah!” Seungcheol nods and smiles, then waits till the doctor is focusing on the screen before turning to Jihoon in a confiding whisper. “I can’t see it.”

“Me neither.” Jihoon murmurs, barely audible.

The wand continues its journey.

“See that little line of white dots? That's the spine developing. Now let me just check out the position of the—” the doctor starts, then pauses. “Wait a moment....”

Jihoon’s stomach twists into a quivering ball, hand clenching tight around Seungcheol's. What if something is—

“As I suspected,” she says, “Okay! Before I go on with this ultrasound, I should ask you — do you want to know the sexes, or are you keeping it a surprise?”

“We’re keeping it a surprise.” Seungcheol answers without hesitation.

“Wait—wait a minute. Sexes? _Plural_?” Jihoon asks, glad he’s already lying down. Everything goes sparkly and dark for a few seconds.

The doctor smiles, claps her hands together. “Yes— _twins_.”

Next to him Seungcheol makes a very unmanly squeal of delight. Jihoon can't fight his grin as Seungcheol presses a kiss to his ear.

The doctor adjusts the screen, moving the wand up higher. “If you look here, there’s a second smaller pup tucked up pretty high above the other.”

“That one _must_ be yours,” Seungcheol laughs, all his tension releasing in one fantastic rush. He strokes Jihoon’s brow tenderly. “Doing its own thing up there. Antisocial and all.”

“I'm not antisocial, you prick,” Jihoon grins, and the doctor turns towards the ultrasound screen, giving them a moment.

Seungcheol takes the chance to kiss Jihoon’s nose, the soft curve of his ear. “Twins” he repeats, sounding beyond pleased at the idea, “We’re having _twin pups_ Jihoonie.”

Jihoon’s not so sure about the ‘We’ part of that sentence.

Seungcheol makes it sound like they’ll be taking _turns_ carrying them. Which, _honestly_ —would only be fair. Seungcheol definitely has a lot more space for twins in his stomach than Jihoon. Hell—he probably has space for a whole other Jihoon in there. 

“Yeah.” Jihoon breathes out shakily and looks over at Seungcheol, wobbly grin spilling relief all over his face.

Twins. Two pups who somehow belong to them, to Jihoon and Seungcheol both. The realisation of it comes over Jihoon in two distinct and overpowering waves of emotion: first a weird, intense joy, and close on its heels a paralyzing apprehension.

“It’s hard to wrap your head around.” Jihoon says with a lot less wonder in his voice.

“It’s not that unusual,” The doctor says, “Omega’s can easily have litters of up to five pups during their most fertile years — depending on their health and body’s ability to carry of course. While you are a little on”— She pauses, visibly suppresses an amused look, and goes on with a more sober professional tone. “the smaller scale for multiple births, you’re clearly in good shape. Given a long natural cycle and regular check-ups, you’ll have no problems carrying twins to term. Though—by your third trimester—you’ll be _huge_.”

Seungcheol makes another unmanly squeal of delight.

“Yeah, but _twins_.” Jihoon sighs, splaying fingers wide over his stomach, slumping back against the crackly exam table paper. “Hardly feels like I have space for that.”

There’s going to be some gravitational imbalance issues to deal with, that’s for certain. Jihoon has disturbing visions of himself swelling up so massively, Seungcheol has to roll him everywhere.

The doctor dips her head slightly in acknowledgement. “The first pregnancy is always difficult, but your body is _designed_ for this in a way.” She hesitates, then goes on with a quick sympathetic smile. “Just take it one day at a time. For now, let’s just focus on taking some blood samples for testing and filling some gaps in your medical history. We’ll be able to determine the statuses of the pups at the same time. That is—if you _want_ to know?”

Dread, familiar, twists a knot in Jihoon’s enthusiasm.

“Oh.” He says, because he’s really crappy at improvising. “Well.”

“It’s doesn’t matter.” Seungcheol interjects, waving her on, as if he doesn't care in the slightest. But Jihoon can see the way his shoulders are set more tightly than they had been before, defensive.

It’s a conversation they never quite seem to finish, Seungcheol always managing to change the subject, to leave the room on the pretence of hunger, or to distract Jihoon by saying or doing something spectacularly lovely and sweet.

Jihoon’s not sure if Seungcheol cares, or pretends not to for his comfort.

His mate has always been pretty chill about status—but perhaps he’ll feel differently when it comes to _his_ pups.

Seungcheol’s from a long line of predominantly Alpha males, something most people would be protective of. It would make sense for him to want to continue that tradition.

Wouldn’t it?

Jihoon feels guilty for even doubting him. For even _having_ these insecurities.

They fall asleep most nights curled against into each other, Seungcheol’s arm hooked around him and the bump, like it doesn’t matter what status they are—as long as they’re _his_.

It takes a moment for Jihoon to tear his eyes away from Seungcheol, to direct his focus back to the screen.

“Can you show us them on the screen again? I want to see them again.” Seungcheol asks.

“Certainly. Would you like a few pictures to take home?” the doctor asks. “We do standard prints as well as 3D images on holographic paper and miniature replicas.”

Seungcheol’s already nodding.

“Yes, to all of those. And can I get it printed on a t-shirt too?”

Jihoon giggles—until he realises Seungcheol is deadly serious about getting T-shirt prints of their blobs—possibly to hand out as Christmas presents or whatever.

“Seungcheol— _no_.”

* * *

 

The Discovery Channel is teaching Jihoon things he's almost certain he  _never_  wanted to know about lions. Things he's sure wildlife experts went above and beyond the call of duty to find out. Nature proves yet again that she can find a million ways to amuse herself without science.

The remote control has, somehow, found its way to the middle of the floor, at least six inches in front of Jihoon's foot, and he can't quite be bothered to get up and get it, to change the channel.

So instead, he continues to unwillingly learn things about the reproductive cycles of Lions.

Lions have an easy go at life; they sleep, they hunt, they mate, then they sleep some more. They seem to have a simple life, the same routine day in—day out—occasionally interrupted by bouts of slow motion running and climatic music when a gazelle appears.

Jihoon thinks he would like to be a lion. Minus the slow motion running obviously.

“Mum called.” Seungcheol says, strolling into the living room and slumping next to Jihoon on the couch. “She got the picture—she got pretty tearful over the phone. I didn’t get to speak to dad—he was too busy crying to talk.”

Jihoon chuckles, shakes his head. “I’m so happy they love our blobs.”

Seungcheol grabs the remote off the floor, then wedges himself as best as he can between Jihoon and the back of the couch. He flicks the channels till he finds something he wants to watch: _Toddlers and Tiaras,_ apparently. Jihoon regrets not claiming the remote earlier; he’s fairly certain he prefers the slow-motion lions.

He’s half worried Seungcheol will get insane ideas and want to enrol their pups in beauty pageants or something.

Oh, god—that too much of a possibility with Seungcheol.

“Cheol,” Jihoon says, gently jabbing an elbow back into Seungcheol, drawing his attention. “What the doctor said, about the bloodwork—”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow but he's too smart not to get it. “What about it?” he responds in a weirdly opaque voice.

Jihoon sighs when nothing else is forthcoming. “Don’t you want to know the status of the pups?”

Seungcheol shifts minutely, and for a moment it seems like he might ignore Jihoon’s question, but then he tightens his one-armed embrace, turns his head and kisses Jihoon’s neck. “No. Do you?”

“Not really. I just thought,” Jihoon says, and then hesitates, trying to get the wording right.

He looks over at Seungcheol as his expression changes from dismissive to something a little rawer. “I thought maybe you’d have a preference on their status.”

Seungcheol frowns, but it's a new, serious sort of frown. He sighs shortly, “I want babies. With you. I don’t care what their status is. They’re ours. That’s all I care about.” He says. He makes it sound like that should have been obvious, like he's disappointed that Jihoon would think anything else.

Jihoon shrugs. “I’m just worried. What if they’re Omega’s? What if they…”

 _Go through what I went through_ , he doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to tell Seungcheol, anyway. Seungcheol knows.

“They won’t.” Seungcheol says it like he knows for certain, and Jihoon is briefly irritated because this is clearly one of those feelings Seungcheol gets that he doesn't think Jihoon would understand. Alpha intuition or something.

“How do you know that?”

Seungcheol turns his head quickly and meets Jihoon’s gaze, suddenly even more intense.

“Because I won’t let anything happen to them. _We_ won’t let anything happen to them.” He concludes, and leaves it there, letting their conversation drown out under the noise of the awful parenting happening on screen.

* * *

  **18 Weeks**

Seungcheol searches everywhere.

The closet, the utility room, the garage, the loft. He even searches under the bed in the guest room, but he can’t find it. He can’t find his secret _stash_.

There’s only one place left to look.

He pulls open the door to the airing cupboard, reaches in to check behind the neatly folded stacks of towels and bed linens. _Nothing_.

_Where did it go?_

Closing the door, he startles when he finds Jihoon standing behind it, arms crossed and hip cocking out to one side ever-so-slightly, like it always does when he is annoyed and trying to get Seungcheol's attention.

“What are you doing?” Jihoon’s voice is unusually flat, and Seungcheol cringes inwardly. 

“ _Oh—ah_ —just looking for something.” Seungcheol answers, as evenly as he can manage.

“Hmm. _Something_? You mean—that _suitcase_ you've been hiding from me.” Jihoon hisses.

Fuck.

Seungcheol’s in big trouble now. He’s certain of that.

“Uh—yes.”

Jihoon scrubs a palm over his forehead and his jaw flickers. “It’s in our bedroom.”

Seungcheol walks down the corridor with Jihoon in tow. Pushing the door open, he immediately sees the suitcase he’s been searching for sat out on the bed. He thumbs over the dial—a little relieved to find it still locked.

“I was organising the airing cupboard when I found it,” Jihoon says from his spot leaning against the door way. “You must have been rotating its hiding spot, cause I’m sure I’ve never seen it before. Couldn’t work the lock on it either, you had it so _secured_. _I wonder why that is.”_

Seungcheol pulls a blandly innocent face and fails to answer.

Jihoon treats him to a narrow stare. “What’s inside Seungcheol? _Huh_? Drugs? Money? Pornography? Are you hiding snacks from me again?”

Seungcheol shakes his head, refusing.

Jihoon stalks closer, fists clenched. “Just tell me! I’ll understand. Nothing can be worse than any of those options surely!”

Seungcheol swallows the lump in his throat.

It’s a lot worse than that. He wishes to _God_ it were pornography.

But things can’t be that simple or easy—not for him.

He whines high in his throat. “Don’t be mad—I just couldn’t help myself.”

Jihoon gives him a darkly exasperated look, and growls. _“Open it.”_

Seungcheol scrambles with the lock, thumbing the dial and clicking the suitcase open to reveal his— _stash_.

“More baby clothes!!” Jihoon yells, eyeing the pastel coloured collection like Seungcheol has just produced a dead squirrel. “What did I tell you about buying more baby clothes?”

Seungcheol drops his head, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh—you _will_ be sorry.” says Jihoon, urgently, not amused as he takes in he sight of the suitcase filled with evidence of Seungcheol’s bouts of ill-advised shopping. “You’re returning _all of these_.”

“No! Please—I can’t.” Seungcheol hastens to protest.

“Seungcheol, we have a whole closet full of baby clothes. I’m still getting gifts from your family. Our house is coming down with baby clothes.” He grumbles, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the overflowing dresser in the corner.

“But—but,” Seungcheol knows he should be trying to look apologetic, but holding up a tiny jumper between his fingers, he can’t hold back his grin any longer. “Look how _tiny_.”

Jihoon crosses his arms and blows air quickly through his nose.

“And I know you already said how much you hate it when people dress twins in matching outfits—but—how cute would they look.” Seungcheol murmurs, holding up a twin set of tiny baby dungarees with matching shirts.

Jihoon’s mouth stretches into a tight line. He’s about to start yelling again.

Seungcheol picks up another set, thumbing the soft fleece. “I bought these cause they match that shirt you like so much— _the blue one_. I thought you could wear it—and the twins could wear these, and I could maybe take a picture? Maybe I could keep it in my wallet and when people ask, _‘hey—you got kids?’_ I could be all like _‘Yes, I do actually.’_ And then I’d whip it out and show off.”

Jihoon’s anger loses a little of its edge and he arches an eyebrow.

Slowly he reaches into the case and lifts a few items, examining them. “You bought dresses too?”

“Well— _yeah_.” Seungcheol guffaws. “We don't know the sexes yet. Besides, girls have _so_ much more to choose from. You can mix and match different outfits and I couldn’t resist this tiny bow, and this tiny skirt—and look at these ity-bity baby shoes.” He coos, holding a tiny pair of baby boots in the palm of his hand.

He pulls back to look at Jihoon again and finds Jihoon starting to smile, just a bit.

Jihoon plucks the tiny baby booties out of Seungcheol’s palm. 

“Fine—you can keep them, but don’t buy anything else.” Jihoon grumbles through a barely-repressed smile.

He turns to leave, but pauses to pick up a twin set of miniature bucket hats, eyeballing them.

“ _Seungcheol_.” There's disappointment in that word, mixed with more than a little mockery. “Nice try—but this is never going to happen.” He says, dropping them back into the case.

He leaves without another word, but a smile is sneaking over his face now.

Seungcheol grins and closes the lid on the suitcase, storing it back under the bed.

He hopes to god Jihoon doesn’t find the second stash in the boot of his car.

* * *

**19 WEEKS**

Jihoon escapes work to meet Jisoo for lunch one day.

They head to the circus of food carts a few blocks away, join the hordes of office workers feeling ‘ _cosmopolitan’_ as they gnaw at different flavours of curry wrapped in different kinds of flatbread.

Jihoon doesn’t partake. He queues at a dessert truck and orders a slice of key lime cheesecake.

“Cheesecake for lunch?” Jisoo half-asks, coming over and sitting next to Jihoon on a concrete flower-bed edge. He’s got a plastic tray with salad in it, leafy greens topped with purple-red shredded beets and corn. It looks disgusting.

“Is that balsamic vinegar?” Jihoon asks, taking the plastic cup of dressing from Jisoo’s tray, popping it open, drizzling it over his cheesecake.

Jisoo makes the sort of gagging noise Jihoon should have, but _didn’t_ make at Jisoo’s own questionable lunch choices. “Oh, God—Jihoon,” he protests.

“You never use the dressing,” Jihoon argues, like _that's_ what Jisoo is objecting about.

“I thought you said you weren’t _getting_ weird cravings?” Jisoo doesn’t ask flatly.

“I’m not,” Jihoon corrects, indignant. “This is an amazing combination. I would eat it if I wasn’t pregnant too.”

Jisoo shakes his head, starts chewing on his own lunch. “We should do this more often. I work a few blocks away—and we almost never meet for lunch like this.” He says, stabbing at his unappetising looking salad.

Jihoon shrugs. “I don’t _usually_ get an hour for lunch. I think my boss is going easy on me, cause ' _I'm pregnant'_.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.” Jisoo says with a thoughtful frown.

“Why should I?” Jihoon replies sharply. “I don’t want to be treated differently just because I’m pregnant. Everyone gets resentful of the favouritism and it makes me feel incapable of doing my job.”

“It’s not favouritism Jihoon—you’re pregnant with twins.” Jisoo points out, ever the bloody-minded stickler for details. “You deserve special circumstances.”

Jihoon snorts, sliding the last piece of cake onto the fork. “Eugh—you sound just like Seungcheol.” He pauses with the fork inches from his lips and drops it back onto the plastic tray. He feels, suddenly uneasy, lightheaded.

Setting the tray down beside him, he rubs soothing at his stomach. “Jisoo—can you please get me a bottle of water.” He asks, trying to keep his voice even.

Jisoo, who opened his mouth to protest his previous statement, quite visibly shifts moods with this suggestion, straightening up a little and losing all interest in his lunch. “Uh—sure.”

It’s probably nothing, Jihoon thinks.

Just thirst. He hasn’t drunk nearly enough water today, and its warm outside.

That’s it.

* * *

 

“I’m not going to take leave early. Drop it.” Jihoon sighs, folding a shirt more haphazardly than he would normally. He adds it to the top of his haphazard pile of haphazardly folded shirts without looking, and half of it promptly falls on the floor. Haphazardly.

“Will you just listen.” Seungcheol tries.

“No!” Jihoon snaps, giving up on folding all together, and starts to ball up socks. “I’m only 19 weeks pregnant. It was one faint spell and it was a really warm day and I didn’t have enough to drink. The doctor cleared me for work so, guess what—I’m going back.”

Seungcheol grates out an exasperated sound, “The doctor cleared you for work _provided_ there were some reasonable adjustments to your work load. Working a full thirty-nine-hour week is _not_ a reasonable adjustment.”

Jihoon’s still balling up socks—but with worrying intent now. He seems to be balling up all the socks they own into one giant sock ball, grumbling under his breath.

Seungcheol places a hand over the laundry basket to stop Jihoon from reaching for more clothes to manhandle. It’s like his Omega is genetically incapable of staying still in one place for more than four seconds. “You need to reduce your hours. For fuck sake Jihoon, even your _boss_ agrees with me.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and neither do you. I _know_ my own body, Seungcheol. I know what I can handle!”

Seungcheol bites down on the impulse to say, _‘yeah—before you were carrying my pups’._

“I’m not going to be some stay at home Omega who spends all day baking and cleaning and waiting for their bread winning Alpha to come home.” he snaps, probably unaware of his hand smoothing over his belly, stroking away some internal turmoil.

Seungcheol scrubs a hand over his face.

He doesn't see anything wrong with housekeeping, but he understands where Jihoon is coming from. Omegas are expected to surrender their autonomy once an alpha impregnates them, but Jihoon has always been fiercely stubborn when society thrust expectations upon him. 

“I’m not asking you to do that Jihoonie. I’m just asking you to take the adjustments your work place is offering you. A shorter week, split the workload—you need it.” Seungcheol says gently, and makes to lay his hand on Jihoon’s shoulder, but of course Jihoon shrugs it off angrily and wrenches out of reach.

“Don’t tell me what I _need_.” He snaps, sounding uncharacteristically childish.

Seungcheol throws up his hands. “Why are you being so stubborn about this Hoonie? It’s not just about you anymore—it’s about them too.” He reminds him, in case he's forgotten.

Jihoon’s bitch face wavers slightly, like he knows Seungcheol has a point, but he's too angry to give it to him.

“Fuck this!” Jihoon yells, voice abruptly wrecked with anger and frustration and the threat of tears. “Just—shut up! Stop talking. I don’t want to talk to you right now. I don’t even want to _look_ at you. I’m going out.” He announces, and starts heading for the front door.

Seungcheol rushes, grabbing him gently by the elbow and pulling him to a stop. “No—the last thing I need is you waltzing around outside, pissed off with me and possibly fainting all over the place.”

Seungcheol stops, draws in a breath, and then lets it go. He drops Jihoon's arm, and takes a step back. “Stay here. I’ll go. I’ll give you some space.”

Jihoon says nothing, but the line of his shoulders and the set of his jaw are more than articulate enough.

Seungcheol moves over the closet, pulls out an overnight bag and dumps it on the bed, starts filling it with items he will need for a few nights away.

“You’re packing a bag?” Jihoon gasps accusingly.

Seungcheol pauses in folding a pair of trousers into a duffel bag. “I need a change of clothes for work tomorrow. And since I don’t know how long you’ll not want to _look_ at me for, I better plan ahead— _one of us has to_.” He snipes, regretting the words as soon as he’s said them because he’s sure it’s not the right thing to say.

Jihoon's jaw works, tight and hard, and Seungcheol hasn't seen that expression for a while. He's about to drag the words back and apologise for them, when Jihoon relaxed and shakes his head. “You are such a fucking asshole.”

Seungcheol scoffs in response, folding a shirt in as best as he can manage.

When he looks up again, Jihoon has stalked off.

* * *

 

When Seungcheol’s father answers the door, he beams at him—then takes one look at the overnight bag in his hand and frowns. “What happened?”

“I need to stay here for a few nights. Jihoon’s— _pissed with me_.” Seungcheol says, trying to work past the awkwardness quickly. 

His father blinks at him, bemused. “He _kicked_ you out?”

“No. Not exactly.” Seungcheol says sheepishly. He forces himself to sound jovial, “ _I left._ We had a fight. I want him to reduce his work load after that fainting episode, but he won’t hear a word of it. Thinks I’m trying to turn him into some _‘house husband’_.”

That sounded huffier than Seungcheol intended but he can’t really bring himself to care.

His father makes a noise, something that manages to be curious and sympathetic at the same time. “So—your solution is to leave your pregnant mate _alone_ , while you both lick your wounds?”

Seungcheol frowns, feeling at once like his insides have been scooped out of him. “I’m just giving him some space.”

His father shakes his head slowly, regretfully. “By leaving him in that house— _alone_?”

Which is, broadly speaking, true. But…… _fuck_!

“I’m just ten minutes away if he needs anything.” Seungcheol insists.

“What if he needs you ten minutes earlier?”

Seungcheol sighs and scrapes a palm over his face. “You’re making it out like _I’m_ the one being unreasonable here. I just- “

“Listen—pup.” His father says in a very gruff paternal voice Seungcheol is more than familiar with, though he hasn’t had the cause to hear it in a while. “Jihoonie is your _mate_. He’s _pregnant_ —carrying _your_ pups. In every argument—he gets to win. _Face it.”_

Seungcheol’s jaw works silently for a second, “What? But, I was--“

“Even if he’s wrong,” His father quickly adds, lifting a reproving hand. “Even if your intentions are the _most noble,_ even if you have all the facts backing you up—by virtue of him carrying your offspring—he trumps every argument you have.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to protest further, but his father simply overrides him.

“Deal with it, Cheol. It’s nothing compared to the stress he has to go through carrying your pups.”

Seungcheol sighs and gives up defending himself, feeling that he’s a lost cause. 

His father consoles him with a manly pat on the back.  “Here’s what you have to do. You go back home—and you _grovel_ at his feet. You promise him anything he wants, _and_ you deliver on it. Then you find a way to encourage him to work less without pissing him off.”

“What?” Seungcheol blurts, startled. He wasn’t anticipating this turn in the discussion. “I’m just meant to go home and go back on everything I said?”

The answer seems to be yes.

Seungcheol gets the feeling it's going to be a long day.

* * *

 

When Seungcheol returns home, Jihoon is slumped on the couch, midway through a marathon of  _Breaking Bad._

Jihoon takes in the sight of Seungcheol standing in the door, relief pouring over his features. He tries half a smile—which slips easily into a frown. “Well—look who it is. _Forget something?”_

“Yes, my priorities.” Seungcheol says, voice flat. He takes a deep breath and blows out harshly. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I’m sorry.”

Jihoon looks briefly surprised, but he just as quickly covers it with a smug look. “Yeah, you’re right—you shouldn’t have. _Asshole_.” Jihoon grumbles.

Seungcheol suppresses a sigh. It's nice to see that Jihoon hasn't lost any of his charm.

The room is dark save for the flickering television. The muted light barely reaches Jihoon, throwing him into half-shadow, but Seungcheol can plainly see the evidence of tear stains on his cheeks.

The impulse to kiss Jihoon is overwhelming for a moment, but Seungcheol stays in the doorway; he doesn’t want to encounter a rebuff.  “I _am_ an asshole. I’m sorry.”

Jihoon scowls at him, but the curl at one corner of his mouth suggests he’s less annoyed and more pleased.

The Omega’s stomach growls then, and he clears his throat and mutters something about being hungry. 

“I’ll make a start on dinner.” Seungcheol suggests brightly. He has learned— _the hard way_ —not to keep a hungry, pregnant Jihoon waiting, so he speeds into the kitchen, starts routing around in the fridge and the cupboards, and selects a few ingredients for dinner.

Jihoon scowls at him from his slumped position on the couch, then from a stool at the breakfast bar, then moves to scowl by his elbow.

“So, what happened?” He asks, watching Seungcheol cook. “Did you go complain to your parents and they agreed with me?”

“I talked to my dad. He made me see things from a different perspective.” Seungcheol says, grimacing down at the frying pan, wreathed in rising steam.

Jihoon clucks his tongue, amused. “You mean a less _stupid_ perspective?”

Seungcheol doesn’t rise to the bait. He reaches for the pepper grinder, adds more to the frying pan. “Yup. I was stupid and wrong. I hope you can forgive me.” He says, as sweetly as possible.

Jihoon pouts at him, like he's impossible, like he thinks Seungcheol is playing with him.

He opens his mouth. Closes it, then opens again to weakly say, “You know—it’s no fun when you don’t argue back. I feel like I’m having a one-sided argument here—it makes me look like I’m over-reacting.”

Seungcheol shrugs affably. “There’s nothing to argue about. I had no right to ask you to reduce your workload just because you’re carrying my pups. It’s your body, it doesn’t matter how much it pains me to see you so exhausted at the end of the day.”

He sees Jihoon about to object, so hastens on.

“Or how terrified I am about you collapsing again, or how emotionally exhausting it is picturing every scenario that can go wrong and trying to circumvent it—because I love you so much and want you to be safe.”

It’s a bit of a surprise when Jihoon doesn’t immediately shake his head. Instead he lifts one shoulder. “I guess I could trial a shorter week—for a bit. See how I feel. Maybe work from home or something.” He mumbles.

“You don’t have to do that.” Seungcheol says, and clears his throat to stop from outright grinning, “I’ll just live in perpetual fear for your safety. When I cry at night, please try and ignore my tears.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “God—you’re so dramatic.” He huffs, but he’s laughing now, and curving a hand close round the back of Seungcheol’s neck, urging him down for a kiss.

“‘M sorry,” Jihoon says, some minutes later, pulling back, smiling. “You’re not an idiot. You’re not stupid. You’re so sweet. I just—get so frustrated sometimes with how— _tenderly_ everyone treats me. I just don't want people thinking that me being pregnant...makes me weak, or something. Or incapable of doing my job. Everyone treats me like I’m carrying baby pandas. It’s frustrating.”

Seungcheol huffs a disbelieving laugh, even though he completely agrees. “But, you are. Don’t you get it.” He says, sliding his palm from Jihoon’s waist over to his stomach, the warm taut bulk of it. “You’re carrying _our_ baby panda’s.”

A laugh bubbles up from Jihoon’s throat, accompanied by a pair of dimples.

* * *

**20 Weeks**

“Junhui said he was going to be late—something about his car, but he’ll make it for the reception.” Jihoon says from the bathroom, voice muffled by his toothbrush.

“Seungkwan is gonna be _pissed_ ,” Seungcheol replies, fixing his tie in the mirror.

Jihoon spits, and there’s a few seconds of running water before he comes out of the bathroom and starts picking through his wardrobe. “Junhui is late for everything anyway. Seungkwan’s getting married, he has enough on his plate to fuss about—he won’t notice as long as everybody compliments his fucking centre pieces.”

Seungcheol glances up. Jihoon’s only got a towel slung around his waist, tucked under the subtle five-month swell of his belly, and having months to get used to the idea doesn’t make it any less of a thrill every time he sees it.

“Are you sure you want to wear that?” he raises an eyebrow at the sweater Jihoon lays out on the bed beside one of his looser pairs of dress pants.

“Absolutely sure,” Jihoon says, considering for a second and putting out a collared shirt to wear underneath.

Seungcheol can already see the way that sweater will cling to the curve of Jihoon’s stomach, and as satisfying as the thought is he doesn’t really feel like being utterly distracted by the sight of it all day. Not when he already feels like this, ready to rip out the throat of any Alpha that stares too long.

“I’m wearing it, take it or leave it.” Jihoon straightens up and throws the sweater back on the bed, rubbing little circles on his stomach.

Seungcheol picks up the sweater like it might bite, thumbs the fibrous wool. “It’s kind of scratchy. You sure it’s going to be comfortable against your skin?”

“I’m wearing a shirt underneath it, and I need the sweater to hide these fucking breasts. Without it they might,” He side-eyes Seungcheol, pre-empting any laughing. _“Jiggle.”_  

Jihoon’s breasts are fairly small, but definitely fuller than the flat chest he’s been used to. Seungcheol rather likes it on him, the roundness echoing the gentle roundness of Jihoon’s belly. Jihoon himself hasn’t said much about it until this latest complaint, probably because it’s hard to find formal clothing that doesn’t immediately draw attention to them.

Seungcheol doesn’t laugh, and has no urge to, despite Jihoon’s fear. He simply reaches over to fold his hands around Jihoon’s slim shoulders, “Jihoon—I get the feeling this is something you think is a bigger deal than it is. They’re hardly noticeable, you’re still so small. And even when they do, who cares—you’re,”

“Don’t start.” Jihoon huffs, pulling away and padding into the bathroom, grumbling something about the curse of spontaneous boob-age.

The sound of the shower spray puts an end to any more argument, and Seungcheol turns his attention back to the sleek grey sweater. It smells faintly of Jihoon and mostly of laundry detergent. Both scents are easy to cover, but he nuzzles at it for longer than is probably strictly necessary, rubbing the wool against the curve of his jaw and throat until he can only smell himself on it when he sniffs.

He gets up to lay it back down on the bed and takes an extra minute to pick up the shirt, too, marking it along the collar and cuffs so even if an Alpha _does_  notice how fucking pregnant Jihoon is, they’ll scent the alpha all over him and know he’s mated anyway.

Satisfied, he turns back to finish dressing.

* * *

 

Seungcheol finds the concept of weddings _strange_.

He doesn’t understand why people want to go through all that planning and stress for one day of celebration. He doesn’t buy into it, but it’s becoming more and more popular amongst his generation and with certain classes that view mating as too _old fashioned_ , too _traditional_.

Or perhaps—too _permanent_. Why claim each other—when you can get a piece of paper to declare your devotion.

It seems like an elaborate hoax if he’s being honest—but he’s careful to keep that honesty to himself. Besides, there’s free food, free drinks and it’s a nice opportunity to see his friends and enjoy a night in a swanky hotel.

As straight forward and comfortable as it is, though, everything seems to be setting him on edge.

He watches surreptitiously over the top of Jeonghan’s shoulder as Jihoon wanders around the dining table, leaning over here and there to speak with other guests.

The way he moves has already changed; the slightest shift in his centre of balance, the way he subconsciously brushes his hand over his stomach often enough to be obvious.

Or maybe it’s just obvious because there’s nobody in the world who knows Jihoon’s usual mannerisms like he does. Regardless, the slight bump breaking the smooth lines of his body is getting bigger every day, and it won’t be long before there’ll be no way to hide it or pass it off as a bit of extra weight gain.

Jihoon tips his head back to laugh at something Soonyoung says, and those pregnancy books weren’t lying—Jihoon’s _glowing_. Full of something subtle and indescribable that makes Seungcheol want to pin him down and tickle him just to see his face light up like that.

Despite the way Jihoon looks and smells calling to him in a hormonal siren song and making his fingers itch to stroke him, Seungcheol thinks he’s doing a pretty admirable job of not staring like a possessive lunatic until just after the sit-down meal, when Mingyu leans over the back of his chair.

“You’re staring,” he says nonchalantly, and Seungcheol glances up to see him looking over at the table where Jihoon’s chatting with Minghao, Junhui and some unknown _Alpha_ guest.

“I know. I can’t help it—he’s _glowing._ ” Seungcheol gushes.

Mingyu walks around his chair and sits down beside him. “Yeah, but you’re staring at him like you don’t know whether you want to kill everyone else in the room for looking at him or fuck him. Or both.” He tilts his head. “Understandable, though.”

There’s only one person in the room Seungcheol feels at all like killing and he’s sitting next to Junhui, stinking dangerously of unfamiliar alpha and very obviously admiring Jihoon’s belly. “You might have to hold me back in a minute—I don’t like the look of that guy.”

“Who? _That guy?”_ Mingyu gestures as subtly as he can. “Nah—That’s Namjoon. He’s a nice guy, mated with a pup of his own.”

Seungcheol slowly loosens his grip on the napkin in his hand, searching _Namjoon’s_ face for the slightest hint of a threat before turning to face Mingyu. “Fuck. This is so hard. Everyone looks like a threat these days—my instincts are all over the place.”

Mingyu smiles. “I know, I know. You’ve always been a bit possessive—I imagine that’s a lot harder now. But think of how pissed Seungkwan would be if you started flipping tables and running his beautifully arranged centre pieces.”

Seungcheol snorts. “Seungkwan doesn’t scare me.”

“Okay—think of how pissed Jihoon would be if you started flipping tables and making a scene.” Mingyu says pointedly.

“You’re right.” Seungcheol grimaces, sobering up pretty quickly at the thought. “That would be _terrifying_.”

They snicker over this for a second, quiet and guilty until Mingyu nudges him with his elbow.

“Hey—how come you’re not giving me the evils? I’m Alpha too. Remember that time I tried it on with Jihoon during his heat?”

Seungcheol gives him a pitying look. “Yes. _I do._ That’s precisely why I’m not worried about you. He kicked you in the _balls_.” He laughs.

“ _Twice_.” Mingyu reminds him, guffawing with scandalized delight. “He kneed me twice. I’m still recovering.”

* * *

 

Jihoon crowds in close to him as they watch Seungkwan and Vernon take to the dancefloor for the first dance.

Seungcheol grins and settles his hand on the small of Jihoon’s back, just to be touching him.

“What are you smiling about?” Jihoon says.

“Just you.” Seungcheol says, thumbing the familiar dip at the base of his spine, “The books don’t lie, Jihoonie, you’re fucking glowing.”

“Head in the game, Cheollie. We can discuss my luminosity after the speeches are over.” As serious as he sounds, his lips are curved in a Mona Lisa smile, fingertips trailing over the arc of his belly before dropping to his side.

“Hey,” He whispers. “Wanna skip out on the rest of this?”

Seungcheol tightens his grip with a rush of confused joy as he considers what Jihoon must mean by that.

He’s not 100% sure, but he thinks his precious puddin is suggesting they sneak off for a quick fuck—during his best friend’s wedding. Which would be very _devious_ of his precious puddin indeed.

Seungcheol purrs, “Oh yeah? What do you have in mind?” He says, kissing Jihoon’s cheek

Jihoon blinks at him. “Uh, I wanna go back to the room, take this fucking scratchy sweater off and probably sleep. That’s it.” He says _tartly_ , as though picking up on Seungcheol thoughts.

Well, he  _is_  rather obviously nuzzling Jihoon’s neck, it can’t be hard to figure out.

“Oh—right.” Seungcheol pulls back, chuckling sheepishly. “Well—I did warn you it was a scratchy sweater.”

Jihoon snorts. “I wouldn’t have noticed had you not mentioned it in the first place. It's like a fucking placebo effect or something.”

* * *

 

They call it an early night, and head back up to the suite after congratulating Seungkwan and Vernon again. But before Seungcheol even slides the card into the door lock, Jihoon is already tugging up the hem of his sweater and peeling it off over his head.

“God—I hate this sweater!”

He pushes into the room, unbuttoning his shirt with jittery fingers, flinching as the fabric rubs against his skin and sighing in relief as it falls open.

Seungcheol follows through the open door and sits on the edge of the bed to watch. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Jihoon sighs, grabbing a T-shirt’s of Seungcheol’s and tugging it over his head.

It’s oversized, threadbare and incredibly soft but Jihoon's brow creases in a pained furrow as he tugs it over his chest. “Fuck. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. Everything feels like sandpaper against my skin.”

Seungcheol hums, reaching out to slide a hand up under the hem of the shirt, bunching it up as he lifts it to brush a finger experimentally over Jihoon’s swollen, reddened nipple.

“Ahh.” Jihoon gasps.

Seungcheol grins, rubbing his thumb more firmly over the swollen nub.

It’s probably a shitty thing to do, touching them like this—It’s taking advantage and it’s predatory, but Jihoon is warm and lovely and so beautiful in the soft light of the hotel room.

Seungcheol uses his free hand to get Jihoon by the small of the back, urge him in closer to where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Jihoon frowns at him but stays put.

His palm glides up then and Jihoon moans as Seungcheol thumbs his nipples a little more firmly, folding his hands over Jihoon’s ribs as he circles them.

“That feel good?” Seungcheol husks, like his throat is dry.

Jihoon shakes his head minutely, not quite a negative answer so much as a denial of what he's obviously feeling, with his breath getting clipped and little moans escaping him now.

“Can I..” Seungcheol trails off, suddenly finding it difficult to think, because Jihoon’s pupils have gone wider, his breath is quickening. Without really waiting for Jihoon’s blessing, Seungcheol nuzzles in close, scraping stubble and seeking lips and warm tongue all over the arch of Jihoon’s breast.

He makes a soft hungry sound when he opens his mouth over the bud, licking it gently.

Jihoon sighs like he can’t help it, which spurs Seungcheol on to a more enthusiastic mouthing of the tender nipple under his tongue.

Jihoon’s cock shows interest before his face does, but in a moment Jihoon’s expression flickers from hesitation over to pleasure. He groans and closes his eyes. _“Ahnn—Cheol.”_

Seungcheol utters a hum and is about to pull off and make a smug comment, but finds himself instead turning his wet kiss into a gentle suck. He feels Jihoon’s breathing deepen, but he doesn’t look up, favouring the new sensation and the oddness of being latched onto Jihoon’s like this: his Jihoonie, his strong, lean, occasionally frightening mate.

After a minute or so of soft suction, he’s surprised when sweet wetness greets his tongue.

“Oh fuck— _Jihoonie_ ,” Seungcheol groans. His voice is so low and thick, he barely recognizes it. “I’m so fucking turned on right now, you don’t even”— he murmurs worshipfully against Jihoon’s nipple, not moving away until Jihoon shoves him off.

“How?” Jihoon gasps, glancing down his chest and then quickly tugging the t-shirt to cover himself. “How does this turn you on?”

Seungcheol chuckles darkly, “Don’t pretend like it wasn’t turning you on too.”

Jihoon flushes and shakes his head. “Fine—maybe a little. But, how is it not _freaking_ you out? Cause It’s freaking  _me_  out, Cheollie. I feel gross.” He says, rubbing his belly self-consciously.

Seungcheol, not wanting to put too fine a point on it, lets go for a moment and pushes up at the hem of the T-shirt, dragging his fingers instead over the ripe curve of Jihoon’s stomach.

The first time he laid his hand here, it was with shock; a few months ago, with tenderness when the test revealed a positive, but now — now it’s with unashamed curiosity, with rising lust.

Seungcheol knows he has a _thing_ for pregnancy; he's unabashed about it, has been since he first saw Jihoon’s stomach swell during his heats after several heavy knots.

He likes his mate round, and heavy, and ripe.

He gets off on it, especially on the knowledge that he got Jihoon that way.

Jihoon himself tolerates pregnancy as a necessary evil on the road to getting a new-born pup, its discomforts and inconveniences mitigated somewhat by Seungcheol's appreciation for his body.

“I made you like this,” Seungcheol whispers, telling himself as much as Jihoon, “it’s me in you, it’s my body in yours. Don’t you think that’s hot?”

“No,” says Jihoon, mouth twisting with humour even as he shivers under Seungcheol’s touch, “no, it’s _weird._ My belly button is turning inside out. I’m _bloated._ It’s _not_ hot.”

Seungcheol chuckles and lifts his head, meets Jihoon’s gaze.

“Forgive me for disagreeing,” He murmurs, dragging the shirt up with both hands now, hooking it up over the swell of Jihoon’s middle, baring him.

Jihoon’s skin looks the same as usual, pale and smooth and young. But bare like this Jihoon’s so unmistakably pregnant, the firm swell of his belly standing out against the angles of his hipbones, and the sight of it is like a dose of reassuring calm.

Seungcheol's still not sure _why_ the sight fills him with so much gratification. Maybe because it’s quite literally a manifestation of Seungcheol having come inside him, having been there, having left part of himself behind.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful Jihoon. Always so perfect.” Seungcheol says softly, splaying his hands flat and dragging them down over the bump.

He leans in and kisses the apex of the bump, just under Jihoon’s navel at this point. Then kisses lower, and lower yet, and Jihoon’s hands come up into his hair in encouragement now, Jihoon breathing fast and loud enough for Seungcheol to hear over his own breathing, the thudding of his heart.

“What about this?” Seungcheol asks now, tugging Jihoon’s bottoms down, leaning in to breathe over the wet head of Jihoon’s cock, “Is this sexy, then?”

Jihoon looks down through heavy dark lashes, licking his lips unselfconsciously. “I can — fuck — I can barely see it, but yeah. Yeah, this qualifies.”

“We don’t get many chances to have loud sex in swanky hotel room,” Seungcheol says, mouthing at the head of his dick. “Let me take care of you.”

“If you insist,” says Jihoon, widening his stance, threading his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, feeding his cock into Seungcheol’s open mouth. "Fuck-I never thought I'd say this, but I miss my heats."

Seungcheol makes a sound of agreement, closes his eyes, lets himself get a little lost in the act of stripping away the clean-soap taste from Jihoon’s skin, pulling the nicer, deeper Jihoonish-scent to the surface.

It’s weird, bumping his nose up against the baby when Seungcheol goes all the way down and holds there for a minute, working his throat around Jihoon.

Jihoon clenches his fingers and fucks into Seungcheol’s mouth gently, little barely-there curls of his hips. Seungcheol holds tight to Jihoon’s round pert ass: dizzy, besotted, frantic for his Omega.

When he pulls off it is with a noisy, lewd suck of wet, and he recalls Mingyu saying he booked the room next to theirs.

Oh well—It doesn’t matter.  

Seungcheol leans back and looks up at Jihoon, catching his breath for a moment.

Jihoon is blushing, or maybe flushed — impossible to know which.

“This feels kinky,” Jihoon pants, “why does this feel kinky?”

“Because you’re all pregnant and round and delicious?” Seungcheol suggests, coming back in to suck a mark onto Jihoon’s stomach.

“Don’t do that,” Jihoon scolds, “We have another ultrasound in a couple of days, they’ll think you’re a deviant taking advantage of his pregnant mate.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing though,” Seungcheol points out before he bites down gently.

“ _Mmph_ ,” says Jihoon, which isn’t his strongest comeback ever, but he’s obviously feeling a little compromised now. He lifts his T-shirt up higher, uncovering his chest, his pink pebbled nipples. “Can you just —do that again. Please?”

Seungcheol considers Jihoon’s request, because it was very prettily phrased by Jihoon’s standards.

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow anyway, like he's confused. Because it's  _always_  more fun to make Jihoon say things.

“Do what, Jihoonie?” he says, playing at oblivious.

“Don’t make me say it.” Jihoon pouts. Then there are fingers in the hair at the back of Seungcheol’s neck, twitching through it, as if Jihoon can't quite bring himself to catch or pull. As if he can't make himself demand.

It’s a new look on him, this sexual tentativeness.

It's been so long since Seungcheol’s seen Jihoon _this_ nervous. He doesn't do nervous like this; Seungcheol feels like he's intruding on a secret part of him. A nice wall right down the middle of him since his body has started changing.

But he’s only five months along, and if it continues—Seungcheol’s worried there’s a danger of it becoming a permanent fixture.

A little _selfishness_ should be encouraged.

He purrs impatience, tips his head back just a little.

Jihoon's fingers tighten, just a fraction, one short reflexive pull that brings Seungcheol just a little closer, close enough that his jaw brushes against skin.

Seungcheol angles his head up, closing his mouth around the swollen bud gently in a wet kiss. "Is this what you want? Want me to play with these?"

Jihoon takes a breath, frustration and arousal and something quietly hysterical that might just flatly deny all this tomorrow.

"Yes," he says quietly, and it shivers out in one stream.

Seungcheol grins, eyebrow raised as he closes his mouth over the nipple again, this time giving the flesh a few soft kneads to encourage the flow. It’s slow to begin, but with a little kneading and some focussed suckling, he has the full taste of sweet milk and the heady awareness of Jihoon above him, watching.

Experimentally, Seungcheol lifts off, leaving the nipple wet and shiny as he continues kneading. Beads of white accumulate and drip down, and Seungcheol catches the line with the tip of his tongue, licking up the undercurve of Jihoon’s breast and lapping another droplet off the softened bud.

Greedy for more, he slides both hands firmly up Jihoon’s ribs, pressing the flesh to coax more out, licking greedily and catching stray droplets with his lips.

“ _Ahh_ —Cheol,” Jihoon half-warns, half-pleads, hand fisted in the curls at the back of Seungcheol’s head, pinning his head to his chest.

It’s nearly unimaginable to remember that mere minutes ago Jihoon was irritable and snappy, making cutting little remarks about Seungcheol enjoying this.

Now, though, he’s fisting Seungcheol’s hair, making sulky, aroused little noises as he guides Seungcheol’s head from one nipple to the other.  

“More—cheol. _Ahnn_ —please.”

“Yes, _fuck_.” Seungcheol groans, grabbing a double handful of Jihoon ass, letting himself be as greedy as he wants. He latches on to one rosy nipple and sucks hard, causing Jihoon to cough out a sob as his thighs began to tremble slightly.

“Cheol—I need…” Jihoon trails off into a whimper, clutching at his shoulders in silent request.

Seungcheol stands straight and places his hand at the back of Jihoon’s head, the skull feeling fragile under his palm as he kisses Jihoon’s faintly uncertain mouth.

Jihoon utters a small sound at the taste that greets him, licking in to chase it further, kissing Seungcheol back demandingly, deeply.

“You kinky fucker.” Jihoon croaks as they part. “Taking advantage of me when I’m pregnant and hormonal. Making me just as kinky as you.” He huffs, though Seungcheol notes he’s already making light work of Seungcheol’s tie, unbuttoning his shirt.

Seungcheol rips the tie off, lowers Jihoon down onto the bed, pulling the rest of his clothes off quickly and following him down, kissing him, lapping at his nipples, squeezing and rubbing both until Jihoon is wet and dripping a trickle of milk down his ribs to the bed.

He flicks his tongue across Jihoon’s plumped nub, gets his lips wet and brings them up to Jihoon’s, simply holding himself centimetres away from Jihoon’s mouth until Jihoon arches up and licks the milk off Seungcheol’s lips.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon mumbles into Seungcheol’s mouth. “I need your cock in me. Fuck me now. _Please_.” He says, voice a wreck of what it used to be.

He spreads his legs, wrapping them around Seungcheol’s torso. He writhes against Seungcheol, trying to pull him in, pull him closer, his skin hot and sweating already despite the cool temperature of the room.

Seungcheol has to remove Jihoon’s hands, placing them firmly on the bed to extract himself enough to shift back and watch as he lightly fingers Jihoon’s hole.

He rubs with just a little pressure, examining the tight clench of Jihoon’s hole—tighter now with the weight of pregnancy.

Jihoon obligingly splays his legs open a fraction further.

“Wait—is the angle okay for you?” Seungcheol asks, running a hand down Jihoon’s inner thigh, putting just a bit of pressure to see if he can take it.

Jihoon’s pulls his thighs up closer to his chest, holds himself there. “It’s fine. Enjoy it, because I don’t think I’ll be this flexible much longer. Not that you’ll want to….... when I get fat.”

Seungcheol shifts his grip to Jihoon’s waist, thumbs laid against the firm curve of his belly. “Not fat. Pups.  _Our_  Pups.”

Seungcheol shifts down and begins pressing his lips to Jihoon’s glistening puckered skin. It’s soft and plump, the flesh yielding but the muscle a hard ring underneath, slick and hot.

Jihoon whimpers, yanking his legs up further as Seungcheol firmly laves Jihoon’s flesh, massaging him, teasing him open, though Jihoon hardly needs it, greedy as he is to be entered.

Seungcheol slips two fingers inside, wetness gathering in the crease between them. Jihoon moans low in his throat, needy, gratified.

“Enough,” Jihoon gasps, short nails raking across Seungcheol’s scalp. “In me.”

Seungcheol bites his lower lip, a flare of need igniting him. “You’re tighter than before, Hoonie.” He says, crawling back up but leaving his fingers inside. “Maybe we shouldn’t…”

Jihoon grunts in frustration, dropping his legs to wrap around Seungcheol again and pull him in, his lean legs strong and demanding. “Don’t you dare back out now.” he growls. “Not after all _that_. I need this.”

“Okay, but—”

Jihoon clutches at Seungcheol’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “Seungcheol—god help me I’ll flip us over and ride you myself.” He threatens, sliding his hands down to Seungcheol’s ass and trying to pull him in.

The head of Seungcheol’s cock brushes against his balls, then slips down past his hole. Seungcheol has to reach down to guide himself in, careful to press gently at first, testing Jihoon’s pain threshold. But if Jihoon is sore and tender, it appears to only add to his mindless loss into sensation as he drops his head back, eyes closing, licking his lower lip.

They could take it slow, probably, but they don’t.

Jihoon is frantic to get Seungcheol inside him and Seungcheol seems equally frantic to be there, and once he’s fucking Jihoon they go a little mad with it, slick skin and filthy words and hard insistent thrusts, Seungcheol’s thumbs holding Jihoon open so he can watch better, see where they’re joined.

For his part Jihoon buries his face in his forearm and grinds onto Seungcheol’s cock, mewling his pleasure.

Seungcheol goes up on one knee and pulls Jihoon’s legs over his shoulder so Jihoon is at a ridiculous and perfect angle and Seungcheol just — god — fucks him and fucks him, grunting and swearing and only letting up long enough to mouth at one of Jihoon’s leaking nipples.

Jihoon starts to swear, pressing up into it. Seungcheol takes no more mercy on the tender flesh there and sucks in hard, feeling the rush of warm, sweet milk on his tongue, the soft skin distending up into his mouth.

 “God—Cheol— _yes_.” Jihoon mewls, voice is in pieces. He lolls his head back, closes his eyes and shivers, coming hard the instant Seungcheol wraps a loose fist around him.

“Oh, fuck, Hoonie,” Seungcheol says, impressed despite himself. He spills into Jihoon, curling his hips upwards in a series of hungry little thrusts, deep as he can go and drawing it out long as possible.

He’s too dazed and blissful to pull out right away, even if it would be more comfortable for both of them. Instead he palms Jihoon’s belly with a slippery smeary hand, working his tongue over a nipple a little longer, sucking fast and deep and abruptly purposeful.

“You might want to leave something in there—for your pups.” Jihoon giggles, petting his hair.

Seungcheol smirks against his skin, but doesn’t pull away.

* * *

**  22 Weeks **

One night, when Seungcheol steps out of the bathroom, Jihoon’s sat up against the headboard reading  _What to Expect_.

He’s frowning and bleary-eyed, staring at the book, whose spine is barely cracked because he’d decided early on that it was an exercise in hypochondria, needlessly informative and alarming. But he’s obviously giving it another shot after that disastrous prenatal class that made them both feel like the most uninformed expecting parents in the _world_.

“Such diligence,” Seungcheol says quietly, smiling, but his expression isn’t matched by Jihoon’s when Jihoon lifts his face to look at him.

Jihoon, rather, looks grouchy and frustrated and displeased with something. 

“Something wrong?” Seungcheol asks, a little more tentatively.

Jihoon closes the book quickly and drops it on the nightstand, hands moving to cradle his bump. “Come here—quickly.”

“Oh shit—what’s wrong.” says Seungcheol, scrambling under the covers on his side of the bed, hands hovering over his mate. “Are you in pain?”

“No.” Jihoon says, giving his belly another little rub. “Give me your hand.”

Seungcheol exhales and relinquishes his hand. Jihoon grabs his palm, and splays Seungcheol’s fingers over his belly, pressing it down gently.

They’re quiet for a couple of beats, then—the bump gives a very gentle nudge back.

“What the….”

Seungcheol realises he just felt a kick—he just _felt_ his pups kick for the very first time, and he nearly shoots off the bed in surprise.

“Fuck!” Seungcheol grins, eyes as wide as saucers as he stares down at Jihoon like he’s some kind of alien.

Jihoon remains in place, luckily, and smiles. “They’re saying hello.”

Seungcheol swallows thickly and presses his palm to the convex surface of Jihoon's stomach. He pushes in on Jihoon’s belly again, and again there’s that rolling pressure rebounding into Seungcheol’s touch.

“Wow. They kicked me. They’re so _strong_.” Seungcheol grins, leaning down to nuzzle the bump and Jihoon both. “Yes, you are. So strong like your daddy—aren’t you. Strong like your daddy Hoonie.” Seungcheol coos.

“ _Like me?”_ Jihoon says, slow and surprised. He blushes, stroking a hand down the globe of his belly. “Strong like _you_ , you mean.”

Seungcheol quirks a brow at him. “No. Like _you_. You’re the strongest person I know. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted them to be just like you.” He insists, wriggling his hand back under Jihoon’s.

Jihoon’s stomach beats a little tattoo under Seungcheol’s palm, in restless opposition to Jihoon’s obvious languor.

“Does it hurt?” Seungcheol asks, kissing a line across the soft skin just above Jihoon’s waistband.

“No,” says Jihoon, scratching the nape of his neck, loose-limbed and cheerful suddenly, “It’s like—all fluttery. It’s nice—like they’re telling me they’re okay in there.” As he speaks, his voice loses some of its earlier embarrassment and shifts into something a little softer, more tender.

Seungcheol smiles fondly. “Of course, they’re okay. They’re super comfortable in that nice little home you’ve given them.”

Jihoon smiles, then..

“Cut it out,” He says suddenly, and it’s not clear who he’s talking to as he pushes Seungcheol’s hand out of the way, rubbing his belly and scowling at it. “I hope you don’t plan on keeping this up all night. I need to sleep, and all this kicking is going to get old quick!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I know some people were expecting some kind of....Alpha showdown at the start of this chapter. But Seungcheol would have wiped the floor with the Jihoon's father. He's younger, stronger and a different class of Alpha...it would have been over kill and not what I was aiming for tbh. I was trying to stress that...people change but sometimes the damage is irreparable and they don't deserve a second chance in your life.  
> 2) Although, the comments in the previous choater were HILARIOUS. 'OMG Cheol's going to Jail!' LOLOL. Oh, folks. I don't angst!  
> 3) Fuck, this part of the story is so large. I just don't know when I'll ever get a chance to write Mpreg again because...I actually don't like the trope XD So, I've been trying to include every Jicheoly baby idea that's passed my mind in the last year and a half!  
> 4) Also, I was...kind of anxious about the whole lactation kink. Didn't know how everyone would feel about it...but there you go. It's done now XD  
> 5) Seungcheol's dad, is totally my dad. I think I'm building a reasonably persuasive argument, but then he bulldozes it with logic! XD  
> 6) Hope you enjoyed reading this update, and your nap half way through cause I'm sure you fell asleep XD  
> 7) Feedback always appreciated. I struggle to reply to comments in a timely fashion, but work is a bitch and I use my spare time to WRITE MORE. But I read and appreciate them all :)


	3. Congratulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pups.

For better or worse, the side effects of pregnancy permeate both of their lives.

Jihoon grumbles and groans and goes through an appalling amount of lotion. He spends a fair amount of time fretting over articles on everything from Gas and Air vs Epidural, water births vs bed births, to methods of reacquiring one’s abs after giving birth. He has headaches and backaches that leave him crankier than ever, and he obsessively keeps tabs on all the weight he’s gaining even as he eats his weight in food.

He also melts like butter when Seungcheol makes good on his promise to spoil him rotten with massages and comes very close to purring when Seungcheol rubs his stomach. It’s ludicrously adorable.

* * *

 

Seungcheol’s making trips to the grocery store every other day now. Jihoon’s always been possessed of a healthy appetite but late pregnancy has tipped it over into the realm of the truly terrifying, and he’s always craving stuff he refuses to keep in the house.

Ice cream, cake, biscuits: things Jihoon feels guilty about gorging on, but suddenly can’t live without at short notice. If it means Seungcheol gets a message to pick up a particular box of donuts on his way home from work, then so be it. He wants to keep his mate happy anyway he can.

It’s on such an errand that Seungcheol has a run in with Mr Hwang, whose greeting makes Seungcheol conk his head on the undercarriage of the car boot as he’s packing grocery bags away.

“Seungcheol!”

“Oh—Hi, Mr Hwang.” Seungcheol says, rubbing the sore spot as he straightens up. “How are you?” He asks, forced smile in place as he lets the door of the trunk drop shut.

“I am _not_ pleased.” Mr Hwang says, tone low and intense.

“Oh?” Seungcheol says, arching an eyebrow at Mr Hwang.

“Yes. And it’s because of your mate—your _Omega_.” Says Mr Hwang, voice biting and precise.

“Is that so.” Seungcheol says, working against a smile.

Mr Hwang is stocky man in his fifties who embodies many stereotypes about traditional Alpha’s… pig-headed, loud and aggressive. Seungcheol doesn’t like him—not one bit, so he digs deep for patience while the man starts running his mouth.

“Yes. I had a run in with him at the supermarket earlier today, and he was very _rude_ to me.” Mr Hwang says, obnoxious and pedantic as ever.

“Ah—well, that’s my Jihoonie.” Seungcheol says, smiling anyway, especially when he imagines his precious, pregnant puddin shaking his small fists at Mr Hwang in a supermarket.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to be rude. He’s just a little tired recently because he’s pregnant.” Seungcheol says, though it can’t be breaking news to anybody at this juncture. Jihoon is so _obviously_ pregnant now, he even has the elderly and decrepit trying to help him carry things when they’re out.

Just the other day a sales assistant in a shop guided him into a chair the minute they walked through the door and brought the clothes _to him_.

“I’m well aware that’s he’s pregnant, it’s hard to miss.” Mr Hwang spits. “But it doesn’t excuse his behaviour. He was out of line and it’s just unacceptable for a man his _status_.” Implication rings heavy in Mr Hwang's voice, something Seungcheol doesn't like to hear.

No way is this guy saying what Seungcheol's brain _thinks_ it’s hearing.

“Excuse me?” Seungcheol says, jaw twitching.

He resists the urge to cross his arms; he knows how intimidating he can be when he does. Mr Hwang might be an Alpha himself, but he’s older—weaker, so there’s no sense in terrifying the man before he says what he has to. Seungcheol accepts that he might just be waiting to hear something that permits him to drive his fist through the guys face however.

“He started yelling at me in the middle of the checkout because I moved ahead of him, which I’m perfectly in my rights to do. But he seems to have ideas above his status, and I suggest you educate him as soon as possible. You wouldn’t want your pups being brought up not to respect the order of things.”

Time is caught in a startled standstill, stretched tight in the air between them, and suddenly Seungcheol can feel  _his blood boil_. Seungcheol finds himself growling, cuts it short. The hood feels hot beneath his hands, and Seungcheol's rational brain is telling him to leave now while he can—before he crushes the man’s skull on the pavement.

He finally settles for, “Mr Hwang—I suggest you get back in your car and drive home. I suggest you don’t speak to my mate again. In fact, don’t even _look_ at him. If you so much as step within 20 feet of him and my pups, I’ll hunt you down and break every bone in your body, right down to that worthless piece of junk between your legs. Got it?”

Mr Hwang takes a cautious step back, nodding. He looks flushed, terrified and a little bit winded. But not apologetic; not even a little bit ashamed.

Seungcheol uncurls his fists from where they’re pressed on the hood and moves for the driver’s side door. “Have the day you deserve.”

Seungcheol gets into the car, closes the door and watches the man stumble away in his rear-view mirror before unclenching his fists.

“Cunt.”

* * *

 

When Seungcheol gets home, he finds Jihoon sitting on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. He’s clearly been crying, surrounded by a sea of balled up tissues, looking flushed and grouchy.

There are two empty tubs of Ben and Jerry’s ‘Phish Food’ sitting nearby.

Seungcheol takes in the scene and considers walking back out the door, finding Mr Hwang and killing him anyway. But it’s too late when Jihoon lifts his gaze and sees him, fresh tears wetting his cheeks.

“What’s the matter my precious puddin?” Seungcheol coos, depositing his jacket over a straight-backed chair and sitting down next to Jihoon.

Usually, trying to hug Jihoon when he's in this kind of a black mood is like trying to snuggle a cat fresh out of the bath: you're lucky to come out with only a few scratches and a sense of terror. Seungcheol risks it anyway, because if ever he's seen Jihoon in need of a hug — he approaches slowly, cautious and casual in case he needs to alter course at the last second.

Jihoon's shoulders snap up in response, and he looks wary — but then, when Seungcheol hesitates, he sighs and grabs Seungcheol by the sleeve, tugs him in.

Seungcheol waits until he's got Jihoon tucked up against his side before he lets himself smile, so Jihoon won't see it. "Do you want to tell me?" he asks, after a moment has passed and Jihoon has begun to relax against him.

“I had a bad day.” Jihoon sniffs, twisting his fingers in his lap.

Seungcheol smiles into his mate’s hair, overcome with a wash of fondness. “Aww, baby, I’m sorry.”

Jihoon heaves a short miserable breath. “Apology unaccepted. It’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” says Seungcheol, grinning properly now. “How?”

“I told you only to buy one donut. _Just one._ But you just had to buy a whole box and now look what I did.”

A glance across the room reveals an empty Krispy Cremes box, covered with a fine dusting of crumbs.

Seungcheol’s jaw drops.  "You ate 6 donuts _and_ two tubs of ice cream?"

Jihoon makes a very small, very pained sound that sounds like denial.

“Your fault.” He grumbles again, and Seungcheol gives a brief, closemouthed laugh and neatly shifts the Omega on his lap. Despite his weight gain, he’s still remarkably light.

With lips teasing against the edge of Jihoon’s ear, Seungcheol lets his knuckles graze Jihoon’s belly, solid and warm through the loose folds of one of his own old t-shirts.

“I’m sorry I brought donuts into the house. What can I do to make it better?” Seungcheol says, dipping his chin to kiss the claim mark on Jihoon’s neck.

“Nothing—I’ll be miserable forever.” Jihoon asserts dramatically, but he lets Seungcheol kiss and nuzzle him anyway.  

Jihoon’s tense and unhappy right up until he suddenly isn't anymore, until he snuggles into Seungcheol’s bulk and exhales slow and soft.

“Wanna tell me all about what happened at the supermarket? I know that’s what you’re upset about.” Seungcheol says, in hopes of offering some relief.

Jihoon’s mouth turns down at the corner, and his voice is very quiet and low when he speaks. “Stupid old man Hwang pissed me off. I knew you’d find out, but I was hoping you wouldn’t because I knew you’d get angry. Also, I kind of threw half a dozen oranges at him and called him a shrivelled old dick.”

Seungcheol lifts his brows in agreement, a smile curving his lips. “That’s nothing. I wanted to snap his neck when he approached me.”

Jihoon tips his head back far enough to look up and smile at him. 

“He’s not going to bother you again.” Seungcheol smiles back, beginning to stroke Jihoon’s hair.

“Good. It was the worst feeling—like I was back where I grew up again.” Jihoon huffs, but tilts his head into the stroking.

“I was just standing there with my basket and he just— _walks_ past me and starts loading his shopping on the conveyor belt, like I wasn’t even there. I know he saw me queuing because—how could he not. I’m _huge_.” He murmurs, clutching his bump.

“I wasn’t going to say anything at first, but then I was like— ** _no_**. Fuck this guy. Fuck him. He doesn’t get to do that to me, I was here first and fuckers like that just give all Alpha’s a bad name and—that’s not fair to you. And that’s when I started throwing frozen chickens.”

“I thought you said they were oranges?” Seungcheol asks, amazed and a little proud.

“I threw anything I could get my hands on, Cheol. I think I even through a ‘Please queue behind here’ sign. I’m honestly surprised I didn’t get banned from the store.” Jihoon’s face is completely straight, but his voice is amused.

Seungcheol only laughs against his nape, dropping damp little kisses that make Jihoon sigh and fall silent.

Seungcheol goes on carding his fingers through Jihoon’s hair. It’s slippery-soft and starting to curl gently because it’s been a while since Jihoon’s got a haircut. The pregnancy hormones have made his always-lovely hair even thicker than usual. Seungcheol scratches Jihoon’s scalp and rubs strands of hair between his fingertips and generally loses himself in the simple pleasure of making Jihoon feel nice.

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispers against Jihoon’s nape.

“Why?” Jihoon asks, shifting forward to look back at him.

Seungcheol tightens his hold on Jihoon a little, “You’ve come a long way from that scared, jaded guy who locked himself in the bathroom stall to cry.”

Jihoon huffs a miniature laugh, and his mouth curls reluctantly. “I remember that night. You found me, took me back to my dorm.”

Seungcheol smiles at the memory, recalling how he almost kicked the door down when he heard Jihoon sobbing inside, but realised it was probably wiser to try and coax him out in his own time.

“We watched that awful movie—ate pizza. Awkwardly exchanged numbers.” Seungcheol chuckles.

Jihoon laughs again, a little more easily now. He's pulling himself together, and the dark cloud over his head seems to be clearing up.

“That was a big deal for me, you know. It was the first time I brought an Alpha “back to my room”. I know we didn’t fuck or kiss or anything, but it was the first time I felt _safe_ around an Alpha.”

“And today’s the last time you’ll feel unsafe around one.” Seungcheol affirms.

* * *

 

One afternoon, Seungcheol sits turning pages in the well-worn baby name book while Jihoon sits across from him, folding onesies over the globe of his belly, looking tired and dazed and so, so happy.

It’s hilarious how much Jihoon _loves_ folding laundry.

It’s one of the chores he'd insisted on doing just so he had an excuse to move around a little during the day. He can't put the laundry in the machine or get the clothes out, but he can fold the garments against the swell of his belly and put them in neat little piles on the bed. Then Seungcheol can come in and put all the clothes on their respective hangers and in their appropriate drawers.

“Jin-U?” Seungcheol asks, reading a name from the book.

“Nope.”

“Jin-Un?”

"Ugh," says Jihoon. "The meanest kid in eighth grade was named Jin-Un."

“Ahh, alright.” Seungcheol answers. “ What about Jin-Young?”

“Ew—no.” Jihoon chimes in fervently, shaking his head. “You know I hate that name. Good fucking god, Cheol. Vetoed.”

“Sorry,” Seungcheol says, bursting into a grin. He licks the pad of his thumb, preparing to turn the page, “I guess ‘Henry’s’ out of the question too then?” He asks with faux innocence.

Jihoon levels him a dangerous look, managing to look very threatening even though they both know Seungcheol could be on the next flight out of Korea by the time Jihoon manages to get off the couch unassisted to kick his ass.

Jihoon’s anger is quickly redirected when he picks up another baby-grow to fold, and finds it has a hood—with _kitten ears._

“Does this have ears?” Jihoon practically seethes, holding the garment in a shaking fist.  

Seungcheol is careful to only let surprise show on his face. “Its does. I think it might have come in that baby shower gift from Soonyoung and Dokyeom.” He _lies_.

Jihoon’s eyes narrow, his expression part confusion, part suspicion.

The look disappears quickly enough, replaced by the expected rolling eyes of Jihoon's righteous irritation. “Ugh! I can’t believe those two! I specifically said nothing with ears! I bet you they did this deliberately.”

“Hmm. You’re probably right.” Seungcheol lies some more. “But we should keep it Jihoonie. It would be awfully rude to throw out a gift. They’ll probably want to see pictures of the pups wearing them or something.” He says with a put-upon sigh.

He doesn’t like lying to Jihoon—but it’s better than the alternative: Seungcheol’s swift and sure death.

Jihoon’s fears about the inherent tackiness of parenthood had been one of the hardest obstacles to overcome and had only been soothed by several shopping trips to the poshest and most killingly tasteful baby outfitters Seungcheol could find.

For better or worse, their pups are going to be clothed and carried in the baby equivalents of haute couture.

It's part of the bargain they'd finally struck several months ago after Jihoon found his second stash of baby clothes, alongside the matching baby crocs he’d purchased.

So, he can’t exactly tell Jihoon that later he went online and ordered every article of baby clothing he could find with ears attached: jackets, sleepers, hats, even mittens they'll never need in the summer just for his pups.

As secret rebellions go, it's appallingly pedestrian, but Seungcheol gets an undeniable thrill of satisfaction every time he discovers something else that will make Jihoon scowl. 

Thankfully, Jihoon returns to his folding non-the wiser, and Seungcheol continues reading out names that get promptly rejected.  

“I could use a drink right now.” Jihoon sighs, slumping back into the couch; they’ve passed K, L and M in the ‘Big Book of Baby Names’ with no success. “I wasn’t a big drinker before, but it’s funny how you miss it like crazy when you can’t have it.”

“Maybe we should call the babies after beer.” Seungcheol jokes, taking a different tack “ _Carlsberg_.”

“Becks.” Jihoon returns with a grin.

“What about Buddy—short for _Budweiser_.” Seungcheol adds, snorting now.

“Miller.”

“Amstel?”

“Soju?”

“Heineken.”

Jihoon hesitates. "Okay, we have to stop, because I was seriously considering Heineken for a minute there."

Seungcheol tips his head back, laughing. "It _does_ sound good with Choi-Lee."

“Choi-Lee—Heineken.” Jihoon tries it out and starts giggling. "Oh fuck, we’re awful parents. We haven’t even narrowed down a _girls_ name either. Why is this so hard?”

“Because their names stay with them forever. Of course, it’s not going to be an easy choice.” Seungcheol says, turning to the page and scanning down the list.

Suddenly, Jihoon pelts him with a tiny rolled up pair of socks.

Seungcheol glances up to find Jihoon regarding him with calculatingly neutral eyes beyond the overwhelming landscape of his belly.

“Why are we even doing this?” Jihoon asks.

Seungcheol has to raise an eyebrow at that.  “It’s a bit late to be asking that now Jihoon—you’re eight months pregnant.”

“No you dolt.” Jihoon says, rolling his eyes and the giggles are starting up all over again “I _mean_ —why are you looking through that book when I _know_ you’ve already decided on names. You just don’t want to mention them cause you think I’ll veto them without consideration.”

“I haven’t decided on anything.” Seungcheol says, burying his face in the book again to avoid Jihoon’s gaze. He gets another rolled up sock aimed at his head for the effort.

“Don’t lie, you big liar.” Jihoon wheedles, waving a finger at Seungcheol. “That’s your second copy of that book. I know you highlighted the names you wanted in the first book. I _saw them_.”

“Okay. Fine.” Seungcheol agrees, closing the book over and setting it down on his lap. “So, you saw them, and what did you think?”

Jihoon shrugs, resting both hands on his bump. “Just cause they’re going to be twins, doesn’t mean their names have to have the same first letter. It’s kinda cheesy.”

Seungcheol sighs. “I knew you were going to say that. That’s why I was hoping to keep them till we completely ran out of ideas. I thought they were cute.” He mumbles quietly.

“I didn’t say they _weren’t_. I just said matchy-matchy names are cheesy for twins.” Jihoon smiles warmly, giving in far more easily than he usually would.

There may be hope for some cheesiness yet, Seungcheol thinks.

 

* * *

 

“Thirty-two centimetres,” says Jihoon’s physician, pulling the tape away from his stomach and making a note on the chart.

“The babies are growing healthily, and everything seems in order.” She checks the calendar on the wall. “Not long now, I’m sure you’re both very excited.”

“Very. Could you tell them to perhaps— _stop_ growing. I forgot what my legs look like.” Jihoon says, awkwardly slipping down from the examination table and letting Seungcheol help him into a chair.

“Well—that’s to be expected.” says the doctor with an amused undertone Jihoon doesn’t like. “You’re carrying twins, and you’re a little on the small side.”

Jihoon has to cast a comedic look down at himself, his straining shirt, his heavy splay-legged sprawl on his chair, his impressively expanded waist where the doctor’s gaze is somewhat understandably fixed, “Not anymore.”  

The doctor snaps off her gloves and leans back against her desk. “Have there been any more fainting spells?”

“There was one fainting spell— _months ago_ —and nobody lets me live it down.” Jihoon says, injecting a little extra exasperation into his voice in an effort to cover his real feelings.

Seungcheol pats him consolingly on the knee. “Jihoon _has_ reduced his workload and he’s mostly working from home now, but we’ve been considering early leave.”

“You have. I _haven’t_.” Jihoon says, hearing himself sound more than a little petulant.

Seungcheol’s laugh is helpless and humourless “We’re _still_ discussing it.”

“We’re not discussing anything.” Jihoon says, because Seungcheol’s being remarkably thick on this point. “You heard the woman Cheol, the babies are healthy and everything is in order. I’m going to work up until I can’t anymore and that’s final.” Jihoon replies, not in any mood to justify any of his choices.

“But your ankles are swelling up.” Seungcheol blurts, but Jihoon rides over whatever else he wants to say by huffing loudly through his nose and struggling to get out of the chair.

He’s attempting some dramatic exit, but the effect is lessened by his inability to actually stand up right now.

“Do—do you need help?” says Seungcheol, frowning, reaching out.

“No.” Jihoon snaps, slapping his hand away.

If Jihoon doesn’t manage to get out of this chair by himself he’s going to be cross with him because he’s an impertinent harassing sod who should learn that Jihoon is always right, how  _dare_  he be so bold as to suggest early leave. Jihoon will be walking out of the door in just a moment, just as soon as he can stand upright, as soon as he stops trying to flail upright whilst cursing fluidly and creatively.

After ten seconds of awkwardness, Jihoon slumps back into the seat in defeat. “I don’t like this chair.”

The doctor smiles genially, and takes Jihoon’s hand in hers. “Jihoon—your persistence is admirable. Truly. But you’re in your final trimester and your body is already working overtime. I would strongly advise you take leave early if it’s an option. You need to limit your physical exertions for your sake as well as the babies.”

Jihoon pulls a face, but of course she’s right. “Fine. If that’s your ‘expert medical opinion’—I suppose I have no choice but to agree.”

The Doctor laughs. “It is and— _thank you_.”

When their appointment is over, and as Seungcheol is getting Jihoon settled into the passenger side of the car, the doctor appears at the top of the building steps and waves him over. “Mr Choi, could I have quick word?”

“Uh—sure.” Seungcheol says, exchanging a quick look with Jihoon, nodding as he steps back and shuts the door.

Jihoon buckles his seat belt, trying to ignore the throb of worry as he watches the doctor discuss something with Seungcheol a few feet away, in low clipped matter-of-fact tones.

Jihoon can’t hear a thing, though the concerned cut of her mouth isn’t the least bit reassuring and unfortunately, Seungcheol’s got his back to him. Not that Jihoon can read lips now or anything, but even seeing his facial expressions would help pinpoint how serious this conversation is they’re having that he’s _apparently_ not invited to.

“What was that about?” Jihoon asks when Seungcheol is in the driver’s seat.

Seungcheol pulls a blandly innocent face and keys the ignition. “Oh, nothing. Just some gaps in my history she wanted cleared.”

* * *

 

A few weeks later and Jihoon’s beginning to think the conversation Seungcheol had with his doctor was more than he let on.

Seungcheol insists it’s nothing, but Jihoon doesn’t believe it for a second. It’s clear that he’s still spun by whatever the doctor said to him, the way he keeps dropping off into long troubled silences, the way Jihoon catches him looking at him askance with those red tipped ears, that firm-set mouth.

Seungcheol stares at his belly a lot. Though he’s always been doing that—he does it a lot more now, and with a little furrow between his brow.

Jihoon isn’t used to feeling self-conscious, but he does, he  _is_ ; impossible not to be at odds with his body when it’s been so blatantly hijacked by their tiny interlopers, and scrutinized by Seungcheol besides.

* * *

 

It is sweltering. The air conditioning is doing its job elsewhere in the house, but the heat of the oven, paired with the harsh sunlight streaming in through the window, is creating quite the sauna in the kitchen. Seungcheol gave up on his shirt half an hour ago, and is mindful of his bare chest as he pulls the lasagne out of the oven.

A soft “Cheol!” comes from the bedroom.

Jihoon's been napping in there for the last hour, and Seungcheol goes to him, leaning his hip against the doorway.

“Yes, puddin,” he says, smiling. “Dinner's almost ready.”

Jihoon sniffs at the air, nose twitching delicately. “Hmm—smells good.”

Seungcheol grins, walking over to sit on the edge of the mattress. “You had a good nap?” he asks, drawing a fingertip along the apex of Jihoon’s belly and making him wriggle a bit in the process.

“Yeah— _real_ good.” Jihoon yawns, then bites his lip. “I had a dream.”

“Yeah? What about?”

Jihoon gives him a cheeky little smirk, rubbing his thigh against Seungcheol hip. “I came home from work to find there was _two_ of you. One version of you with hair slicked back, the other with the fringe down. You were arguing with yourself over the remote—it was so dumb. But then, you started wrestling, and as I was trying to break up the fight—I went into heat and you both….” His spine arches against the mattress, and he groans, relaxing under the weight of his heavy stomach. “It was a really good dream.”

Seungcheol has to swallow back the saliva pooling in his mouth.

Three weeks ago, Jihoon had complained to him that he was tired of not being able to see his own dick. Seungcheol had assured him that it was still there, and still quite lovely. That somehow led to them having some pretty hot sex, which as far as Seungcheol was aware, was acceptable—even _encouraged_ during the third trimester.

So, imagine his shock when the Doctor pulled him aside after their last appointment and _scolded_ him.

Okay, maybe less a scold and closer to a gentle tutting, but it succeeded in making Seungcheol feel like shit anyway.

He knows what it looks like; his heavily pregnant mate with finger shaped bruises on his hips. It looks amazingly bad even if Jihoon’s always bruised like a peach and was the one begging for more.

Seungcheol knows his mate won’t settle for soft and gentle, won’t be happy with slow. So, the sex had to stop.

That’s easier said than done, especially when Jihoon’s palm is moulding itself to his knee, stroking lazily.

“Cheol…”

“That’s the timer on the oven.” Seungcheol hedges, straightening up and out of Jihoon’s reach.

“I didn’t hear anything.” Jihoon says, brow furrowing slightly.

Seungcheol ignores the jab of guilt and lies right through his teeth to say, “Well, I did. Better get the lasagne out before it burns.”

Seungcheol rushes out of the room, leaving a sulky, aroused Jihoon on the bed.

* * *

 

“Ugh—who is it now.” Jihoon groans, waddling towards the door as the doorbell rings for the third time.

He really hopes it’s Seungcheol’s mother and not Sandara with the baby book she says she’s finished with, or Chanyeol come to share his raw energy bar recipe (barf), or that psycho from the health food shop that said his aura was mesmerizing and would he like to enrol the pups in baby yoga?

The neighbourhood is terrifyingly friendly, which will be great for when they need babysitters in the future or other kids for the pups to play with, but not now. Not when Jihoon is approximately one billion (or thirty-eight) weeks pregnant.

The doorbell rings again, twice in a row, anxious-sounding. “Be right there!” Jihoon bellows, plastering a furious scowl on as he swings it open to find….

“Oh, my god. You’re so huge!” Seungkwan says, forgoing any kind of polite greeting.

Jihoon’s never had the urge to murder somebody on his doorstep before. But he will—if he has to.

“You’re not welcome here. Fuck off.” Jihoon says, standing sway-backed in the foyer, still faintly breathless from his walk to the door.

If Seungkwan’s put off by his foul mood, he doesn’t show it, just smiles from ear to ear and extends a hand and says hello to Jihoon’s bump.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He grins, petting the bump in apology. “Cheol warned me not to say anything like that but—oh, god _Jihoonie_. You’re _massive_.”

“Get out of my house.” Jihoon glares.

Seungkwan pulls a comically fraught expression and rolls his eyes, breaking into another smile. “I won’t say another word, I promise. Look,” He pats the front of his jacket, pulls out a flat package. “I even brought a gift!”

Jihoon accepts the package, opens it and a string of amber beads falls out into his palm.

“Did—you just gift me a string of anal beads?” Jihoon asks incredulously. “ _While I’m pregnant?_

The audacity!

“Are you trying to remind me of what I’m missing out on?” Jihoon huffs, frowning at the beads and running them between his fingers. They seem small, but he supposes with the right imagination….

“What? No! They’re teething crystals. It’s an Amber teething necklace you,” Seungkwan pauses, and sketches a gesture mid-air. “Utter _nympho_.”

“Oh—erm—right. Of course.” Jihoon blushes. Laughing sheepishly he drops the beads back into the package again. “Thank you. What a _thoughtful_ gift. I will treasure it.”

“I suppose I should offer you something to drink.” Jihoon huffs, guiding Seungkwan down the corridor.

Seungkwan looks very much like he’d like to call Jihoon massive again—or perhaps comment on how he’s waddling, but instead he just nods and trails Jihoon into the kitchen.

“I’m down to herbal fucking tea, I sleep like shit these days, but nothing’s stopping you having coffee I guess. Lucky bastard.” Jihoon says with a derisive snort.

He slides the stack of folded blankets and tiny shirts over on the table-top, makes room in front of Seungkwan’s chair. “Did you want coffee, then? Tea? Water?”

Seungkwan waves his arms around. “Oh—you don’t have to worry yourself with any of that-“

“What—will—it—be—Boo?” Jihoon bites out.

“Coffee, please.” Seungkwan squeaks, dropping into his seat.

Jihoon finds the coffee, the French press, and sets everything at the ready for boiling water. His feet hurt and his back aches and he’s fairly certain if Seungkwan doesn’t stop smiling at him he’ll stab him with a spoon any minute.

“You look great Jihoonie. You’re practically-“

“If you say glowing—I’m gonna punch you in the nuts.”

“Radiant.” Seungkwan diverts at the last minute.

The kettle clicks off. Jihoon pours out the water — into the French press for Seungkwan, into a mug for himself — and comes over to sit with Seungkwan while things steep and brew.

Jihoon sighs. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be snappy. It’s the hormones just making me grumpy.”

“Oh? Then—what was your excuse before?” Seungkwan says, crossing his legs. Jihoon gives him the middle finger.

“ _Charming_. Seungcheol is so lucky to have you.” He snarks.

Jihoon slumps back into his seat. “Ugh—don’t start. He’s painfully soft with me. He just lets me _say_ whatever I want, and _do_ whatever I want and never complains. It’s so annoying.”

Seungkwan reaches out to pat his hand. “He was always a bit like that. _Soft_ —that is. I imagine it’s ten-fold now that you’re carrying his pups. Vernon’s like that too—super protective.”

Jihoon sighs and nods, relieved that Seungkwan understands, that Seungkwan got it in one as usual.

He could say more—could complain to Seungkwan about how Seungcheol hasn’t touched him sexually in over a month, but it feels wrong. Like airing their dirty laundry in public.

Not that they _have_ dirty laundry—because of course _Seungcheol_ does all the laundry all the time, leaving Jihoon to sit around and think about all the sex they’re not having.

Jihoon sighs out a frustrated breath and complains about the trivial instead. “The other day he painted the nursery— _three coats_. It took him _all day_. After, I told him I preferred white— _not magnolia_ —and you know what he did? He repainted it, without a single word. _Fuck_ —he’s such a pain in the ass.”

“Yes. What a total jerk.” Seungkwan suggests with a sort of weary wry humour.

“Don’t laugh Boo. You know I _hate_ being treated like glass.” He says, beginning to gather himself to stand again to fetch their drinks.

“Stay put, that’s for me to do.” Seungkwan says firmly, pushing down on Jihoon’s shoulder in passing, urging him back into his seat. “I can push a plunger and use a spoon.”

“Vernon is so lucky to have you and your skills.” Jihoon says, putting on his sarcastic ‘I am impressed’ voice. “Honeymoon phase over yet?”

Seungkwan indulges him with a smirk and busies himself with the coffee, chatting away about his glamourous three-month long honeymoon with Vernon.

Large baby chooses this moment to execute a slow starfish stretch, all four limbs akimbo from the feel of it.

It’s the sort of thing Jihoon found delightful, back when the pups first started moving. Nowadays it feels rather uncomfortably like Jihoon is housing cephalopods who are trying to assemble IKEA furniture inside his stomach.

“Mmph,” Jihoon groans, pushing back against the bump and drag of a baby foot, trying to convince it to stay folded up. “It’s called the foetal position for a reason,” he tells his belly. “If you don’t like it, get the fuck out. Plenty of room to spread out, here.”

When he looks up, Seungkwan is frozen with his hand on the press’s plunger, looking rather ashen faced. His eyes are wide as he stares at Jihoon, alarmed.

“Is it,” he says, haltingly, “is it time?”

“No,” says Jihoon, waving him off “unless you mean time for foetal yoga and placenta aerobics. One of the little shits is just restless. Unfortunately, it’s the _large_ one, so every movement feels like it’s trying to rip me open.”

Seungkwan relaxes visibly and goes on pressing the plunger down, though his knuckles are still a bit white where he’s gripping the carafe. “Bag all packed and ready to go? Can’t be long now.”

“Yes!” Jihoon sighs, rolling his eyes. “Packed a month ago _and_ routinely checked just in case the bag _somehow_ opens itself and all the contents wonder about the house.”

Seungkwan pours himself a cup of coffee, lifts it to his lips and takes a sip. “Let me guess. Cheol?” he says, almost in a neutral tone.

“Of course, Cheol. Cheol does _everything_. He packed the bag, he painted the nursery, assembled the crib and has the car seats in place already. He buys all the tiny clothes, he reads all the books—he does everything and _enjoys_ it, and I just sit here like a big whale and soak up attention.” Jihoon says, frustrated, balling his hands into fists on the surface of the table.

“Hmm.” Seungkwan makes all the right noises of indignation and then, because he's Seungkwan, gives Jihoon that look that suggests he’s being melodramatic.

Jihoon crosses his arms and looks up to meet Seungkwan’s gaze, to better plead his case.

“The other day—I fell asleep on the couch, and he cut the telephone line, switched off all the electronics, muted the doorbell and sat in complete silence so that nothing would disturb me. I slept for five hours! It was meant to be a short nap.”

Seungkwan comes over with Jihoon’s mug of tea and sits down again. “Anyone else would think that was the sweetest shit ever—you of course, don’t.”

Jihoon twists his mouth around ruefully, “It is sweet I guess—but I wish he would let me _do more_. I feel useless now that I’m on leave. Just taking up space and accomplishing nothing.”

Seungkwan lifts his mug of coffee in salute. “There will be plenty to do once the pups arrive and Cheol has to go back to work, maybe he’s letting you have a break early. And it’s not accomplishing _nothing_. You’re carrying the babies Jihoon. That’s several jobs in itself.”

“True.” says Jihoon, nodding down at his belly. “And I open the mail and keep on top of any bills. Our post box is just the right height and I can still fetch the post without having to bend down.”

“And that’s a very important job.” Seungkwan mutters, hiding his smile in his mug.

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Jihoon says, and means it.

* * *

 

Jihoon hears the knock on the door five seconds before he hears the letterbox creak open. He waddles down the corridor towards the front door and pauses halfway.

_STUPID FUCKING POSTMAN._

_STUPID, INCONSIDERATE POSTMAN._

_STUPID, INCONSIDERATE POSTMAN—POSTING LETTERS THROUGH THE DOOR INSTEAD OF THE DESIGNATED BOX._

Jihoon stares at the pile of letters on the floor by the front door balefully for a long moment and considers leaving them there, going out to the hardware store down the road and buying a pneumatic drill to put up another sign— **‘PLEASE USE POSTBOX’.**

It honestly seems like a better use of his time, and far less monumental a task than getting down on the floor and picking up the letters, standing up again afterwards.

His centre of gravity has completely shifted in pregnancy, and the simplest of tasks, like tying his laces and picking up things are suddenly impossible.

But that’s absolutely ridiculous, Jihoon knows.

He steps over to the door, dragging the step-stool out of the airing cupboard behind him.

It’s not so hard, getting down to the floor; it’s mostly just doing what gravity is urging every minute of the day. Jihoon drops to one knee, supporting himself on the step-stool, then the other knee, and then finally down onto his ass with a grunt.

He picks up the first few letters and sets them on the hallway table as he collects the rest. Then those letters decide it’s a great time to fall down the back of the table.

Yay for Jihoon.

He pats around under the table for them, but he can’t reach, can’t see behind the cabinet. Flat on his side is better — and now he can see a pink envelope tucked behind a table leg, just out of reach.

Jihoon scoots closer, sighs with effort, and stretches his arm out far as it will go, just managing to catch the envelope with his fingertips.

The position makes him yet more uncomfortably aware of his bulk: the heavy drop of his belly, yes, always there, but the unaccustomed swell of his chest too, the weighty feel of his ass and thighs and arms. Jihoon scrabbles the letter into his grip and then lets inertia abruptly overtake him.

He’s a beached whale; he’s a hippopotamus in the mud. He’s the iceberg that sank the titanic. He will just stay here, flat on the floor with one arm under the hallway cabinet, until the babies fall out of him.

It feels like it must happen any minute.

This is, of course, when he hears Seungcheol’s car pull up on the drive.

“Aw shit,” Jihoon says feelingly.

Last thing he needs is Seungcheol stumbling across Jihoon sprawled out helplessly like a geezer with a broken hip. Seungcheol will use any excuse to take time off work and ‘be there’ for Jihoon. There’s no help for it. He’s going to have to stand up again.

_I can do this. I can do this. I WILL DO THIS!_

“Ahhhh.” Jihoon whines, trying to roll himself to sit on his ass again.

He’s managed to lever himself on his knees, legs tucked behind him, one hand holding on to the bottom of the bannister.

He steels himself for the arm strength he’s going to need for the next step; big breath in—slow breath out.

_Here it goes—one—two—th-_

Suddenly there is the sound of keys in the lock to his left, and the front door is swinging open to reveal Seungcheol.

Jihoon pretends to look like he belongs on the floor.

Seungcheol shifts the grocery bag from one arm to the other. He looks amused and laconic and fucking annoyingly attractive in his pinstriped trousers and crisp shirt and charcoal tie.

“Pudding?” Seungcheol grins. “Whatcha doing?

“What does it look like.” Jihoon says, attempting to sound casual.

“It looks like you tried to pick up the mail and got stuck on the floor.” Seungcheol says, grinning in a terrible superior way.

Jihoon flings the envelope in the air—it falls behind the cabinet again.

“The fucking mailman posted the letters through the door _instead_ of putting it into the box. Even though I put a sign out! It’s my job Cheol! I had to get down to pick them up.”

Seungcheol sets the grocery bag down on the cabinet, the moves to help him up. “Let me-“

“No!” Jihoon grunts, swaying away. “Don’t help me.”

“Okay.” says Seungcheol, agreeing with his words, but clearly disagreeing with every other mannerism imaginable.

It’s a multi-step process, getting back on his feet, and every other step goes like this:  _pause while grunting unattractively_.

Seungcheol scrubs his hands through his hair, letting out a loud sigh. “Please, Jihoonie—let me _help_.” Seungcheol says, and Jihoon scowls under the weight of the hand that settles on his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare.” Jihoon growls, watching Seungcheol’s jaw flicker.

Finally, Jihoon is on his feet, though he’s fairly sure he will opt for delivering the baby on the floor if the problem ever presents itself again.

“There—I did it.” Jihoon grins, flushed and happy, sweating slightly after accomplishing that epic feat.

He waddles down the corridor to the living room. The couch looks mightily inviting to his eyes, a mid-afternoon couch nap calling out to him and his tired swollen ankles, his heavy kicking belly.

Seungcheol follows him, obviously resisting just scooping Jihoon up and carrying him where he needs to go. He resembles nothing so much as an anxious dog, presently. It would be amusing if it weren’t so irritating.

Jihoon slouches down in the couch and folds his arms over his chest, scowling when Seungcheol bends down to lift his legs up onto the coffee table for him.

“Look at your little feet, puddin. They’re all swollen. You need to elevate them as much as possible.” Seungcheol says, his token comfort far worse than his outright mockery.

“They’re fine.” Jihoon sighs, rolling an ankle in Seungcheol’s grip.

Seungcheol still insists on giving him a foot massage. And Jihoon huffs and grumbles like he’s suggested they take part in a spot of hostage negotiation.

He doesn’t resist though; at least Seungcheol will be sitting still for this and not treading on egg shells around him.

“Seungkwan came by earlier. Bought me some anal beads.” Jihoon murmurs.

Seungcheol nods, then does a double take as that sinks in. He makes a face that suggests Seungkwan may not be welcome anymore.

Jihoon wiggles his toes and Seungcheol takes the silent cue to dig the ball of his thumb into the arch of his foot. Jihoon tenses up for a moment before sagging almost bonelessly back against the couch with a happy little mewl. 

“I should be doing this for you. You’re the one who’s working all day, while I just sit here like a big whale.”

“Babe, I know you’re frustrated to be off work—but you can’t be expected to do everything you used to when you’re this heavily pregnant.” Seungcheol points out, thumb stroking over the inside of Jihoon’s ankle tenderly. “Just let me help.”

“You wanna _help_? You wanna make me _feel_ better?” Jihoon says, straightening up in his seat, glaring now.

“Of course.” Seungcheol says, business like, calm and detached in spite of the loaded half-question.

“Then fuck me.” Says Jihoon as he pulls his foot out of Seungcheol's grasp and lightly drags it over the zipper of his trousers. He quirks a wicked eyebrow at his mate. “I want sex.”

Seungcheol averts his gaze and blows out a breath of air. It's not the heavy sigh of one reluctant to speak; rather, it's the hesitant noise of one trying to find the right words. “Jihoon, I don’t,”

“You know what. Forget it.” Jihoon interjects, dropping his foot to the ground.

Angry and upset, Jihoon turns on the television, kept company inside and out with Seungcheol sulking a few feet away and the babies restless within.

* * *

 

The silence between them is a little more strained over dinner and the situation isn’t helped by the steady grim patter of rain.

Though loathe to use the word, eventually Jihoon is forced to concede that they are both tiptoeing around each other, and isn’t that ridiculous, given how much time Seungcheol’s cock has spent in him before?

Jihoon yawns and gives Seungcheol several lust filled looks before he gives in and heaves himself to his feet. There are blankets in the linen closet, and a spare pillow. Jihoon fetches them and drops them next to Seungcheol’s lap on the couch. He can’t resist giving Seungcheol a kick to the shin to get his attention.

“What’s this?” says Seungcheol, seeing the stack of blankets. 

Jihoon clears his throat and crosses his arms, “Your options. You come to bed—you fuck me. You don’t want to fuck me—you sleep on the couch.”

Seungcheol just stares at the blankets with the small muscles of his jaw flickering. It's almost impossible to guess if he's annoyed, angry, or working hard to hold himself back, to keep himself in check.

“But—we have a guest bedroom.” He says finally, matching Jihoon’s mood if not his prim tone.

“Which is for _guests_. You are not a guest. You sleep on the couch.” Jihoon says and then catches himself because his voice is rising and Seungcheol's cheeks are pinking and he just knows that they are heading for a fight that started over nothing and he doesn't want that.

Jihoon scowls and heads down the hall towards his bedroom, back aching, eyes bleary, stomach full to bursting though he’d managed little enough food. He scarcely knows anymore what he hopes Seungcheol chooses, when Seungcheol is ready to sleep too. All Jihoon knows is that he needs to be horizontal and unconscious, soon as possible.

* * *

 

The bed is a sea of pillows, each of them critical to supporting Jihoon in a comfortable position long enough to let him sleep.

Once duly situated, he drops off almost instantly, drained by the exertion of merely being upright and moving most of the day.

As usual, this blissful rest lasts approximately an hour before his bladder insists upon his attention.

Jihoon groans and fights against it with fitful twitches of his arms and legs for a few seconds before abruptly remembering that Seungcheol might be in bed with him, might be disturbed by all this commotion. But then he remembers his ultimatum and when he heaves himself up on one palm and looks at the other side of the bed, the covers are flat and undisturbed.

Seungcheol chose the couch, after all.

Or not, Jihoon realizes as he exits the En-suite to find Seungcheol standing directly outside.

Jihoon allows a split second of happy arousal to wash over him before Seungcheol opens his mouth and says, “Just grabbing my tooth brush.”

Jihoon waddles sideways as Seungcheol walks past him, slumping against the door with a sad huff. He’s horrified to find tears welling up.

“I’m sorry you find me so _unattractive_.”

Seungcheol freezes in the doorway. He looks back, meeting Jihoon’s gaze again, steady now.

“Is that what you think this is _about_?” he says, almost offended. No—he _is_ offended; anger and uncertainty counterbalance each other in the flash of his eyes.

Jihoon stares down at the cuffs of his sagging pyjama bottoms, dignified a little by his dressing gown over them. “I know you’ve been avoiding touching me. Because I’m fat.”

Seungcheol's face softens at that, and it’s too much like pity. Jihoon hates seeing that look on his mate’s face, almost as much as he hates wondering what’s going through his head right now.

“God, no. Jihoonie—Don’t you know how you look, right now?” Seungcheol asks, and now his tone is incredulous. Soft disbelief. “Do you know how hard it is for me not to fuck you like this? You’re so fucking hot, I want to touch you _all the time_. I jerk off in the shower every fucking morning just thinking of you bouncing on my lap.”

Jihoon shifts closer. “Then why-“

“Because I’m _scared_ , Jihoon.” Seungcheol interrupts. He scrubs a hand over his face, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt the babies.”

Here Seungcheol waves a hand at Jihoon, having difficulty. “You want to know why the doctor pulled me aside after our last visit? She was worried about the bruises on your hips, how _rough_ I was being. She told me to limit your physical exertions and honestly, I don’t know much control I’ll have once I’m inside you. I don’t want to risk it.”

Jihoon gapes at him, stunned. Why he oughta call that doctor now and give her a piece of his mind.

“That’s bullshit. That bitch! How dare she say that to you! You’re always gentle.” Jihoon gasps, shuffling closer to stand between Seungcheol’s knees.

Seungcheol falls silent, and Jihoon wonders for a moment if he's won.

“I just want to feel you Cheol, I miss,” and then he has to stop because Seungcheol’s reaching out with one hand, pulling aside one lapel of Jihoon’s robe, careful to touch only the silky fabric and not Jihoon’s skin.

For all his care, Jihoon shudders anyway, because the inside of the robe is dragging over his chest, and the early tenderness of pregnancy has more recently given way to a sort of heavy sensuality. It feels nice, nicer than Jihoon could guess, that glide of silk over taut breast.

“Fuck, careful, careful,” Jihoon says hotly. “I was turned on just seeing you standing there—don’t touch me all soft like that unless you’re going to keep going.”

“Can’t believe you think I’m not turned on by this.” Seungcheol huffs incredulously. He strokes the open lapel of Jihoon’s robe a little more firmly, curving it to the side so it cups round the contour of Jihoon’s exposed breast, his hard nipple.

Leaning in, he circles the tip of his tongue around the flush of one nipple, using his thumb with just the barest whisper of a touch against the other nub.

“Cheol, Cheol!” Jihoon half-warns, half-pleads, but his traitorous hand is already carding through the soft curls at the back of Seungcheol’s head, pinning him in place.

His body wants this, desperately, and doesn’t seem to be fussed about the mixed signals, here: suck of mouth at his nipple, pyjama bottoms brushing against his rising cock, because Seungcheol feels amazing, smells perfect, is gorgeous and hot and touching Jihoon like he really  _wants_  to touch him, like he’s been holding back just like Jihoon has been holding himself back from throwing himself all over Seungcheol.

Seungcheol breaks his hold with a delightful wet noise, tilts his head back, and he’s gone now, flushed and heavy-lidded and dimpling with pleasure. “You have to set the pace—I can’t control myself.”

Jihoon unknots his robe and shrugs out of it, hurrying now. “Yeah—sure, whatever. Just keep touching me. _Please_.” he says, probably embarrassingly eager, but god.  _God_.

It’s far too long since Jihoon has been touched like this, even by his own hands; sometimes his hormones all but demand it, but he’s rarely been in the mood for jerking off, too bothered by the way his body’s changed. Now, suddenly, with Seungcheol looking at him like this, sucking a tender nipple back into his mouth, Jihoon is unthinkingly desperate to come. He doesn’t give a shit that it’s going to be —

“Ahh—Ahh—Yes—yes.” Jihoon clutches hard at Seungcheol’s shoulders, breath catching as he comes just from the few teasing licks Seungcheol’s managed. It’s hot and sudden and weird, not like any orgasm Jihoon can remember having. 

Seungcheol pulls away looking like a startled dog, blinking at Jihoon. His mouth is wet, and he swipes at it with the back of his hand before smiling. “Oh, wow _Jihoonie_.”

“It’s your fault. I’m so sensitive and you haven’t touched me in ages.” Jihoon pouts, adjusting his now soiled pyjama bottoms.

Seungcheol grins, pulling his head upright and turning to meet Jihoon’s censorious gaze.

“But I was only playing with your nipples—and it can’t be more than a month since we-”

“Don’t kink shame me you jerk.” Jihoon interjects, annoyance and fondness vying for dominance in his tone, because he can feel Seungcheol trying not to laugh.

“I’m not, I swear!” Seungcheol chokes out laughing. He ducks in close and starts in on Jihoon’s chest again, and Jihoon closes his eyes, blissful, drifting on a slow burn of arousal now that some of the urgency has been stripped away. 

Seungcheol drags his hands down Jihoon’s sides and round his front, strong fingers splayed over the round of Jihoon’s belly. He hooks Jihoon’s pyjama bottoms with his thumbs and lifts them down and away so they fall puddled to the floor. He has to tilt his head a little to get a look at Jihoon’s cock, which is kissed up against the lower curve of Jihoon’s middle, leaking steadily.

“Fuck, baby.” Seungcheol says, lifting it away and gently stroking it. “You really _did_ just cream your pants from nipple play.”

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that? Hmm?” Jihoon says, rolling his hips into Seungcheol’s grip. “Now can you take off your clothes and get on the bed so I can _ride_ you.”

“Yeah,” says Seungcheol, “yeah,” but he’s talking with that sweetly dazed tone he gets when he’s truly focused on a task, and it’s no surprise when he kneels down off the bed instead of rising, when he kisses down from Jihoon’s navel and licks around Jihoon’s foreskin, and Jihoon can’t see a fucking thing but he can feel it all.

* * *

 

“This isn’t going to make you go into labour, is it?” asks Seungcheol, albeit asking a bit after the fact, since Jihoon’s already hovering over his dick and isn’t about to get up.

Jihoon looks down at him, sees him pink-cheeked and frowning ever so slightly. “Maybe.”

Seungcheol’s expression looks terrifyingly conflicted, and Jihoon has to roll his eyes. “I’m kidding.” He says, though he’s not one hundred percent certain.

“The point is—I want it,” Jihoon purrs, hooking a thigh over Seungcheol’s hip, “and the babies will like the rocking motion.”

“I guess that settles it then, huh,” Seungcheol smiles, gripping the base of his shaft and stroking himself leisurely. His cock is big and swollen, flushed red, and Jihoon spreads his legs for it as much as he can.

“I’m regretting the need for this position. Being on top makes me feel huge.” Jihoon complains, even as a full-body shiver wracks his frame at the feel of Seungcheol’s cock pressing up against his entrance.

“You look beautiful,” Seungcheol murmurs, rubbing the head of his cock through the slickness at Jihoon’s hole. “I love watching you like this, you know.”

He presses inside before Jihoon can reply, the sticky-hot slide of it stealing the breath from his lungs.

It's overwhelming. He can  _feel_  it, every sensation pulsing down his spine. In heat, nothing registers but the rush of desire, lust, the need to fuck it out. This is different; he can feel Seungcheol hands against his stomach, can feel the stretch in his thighs as Seungcheol’s hips press between them again and again.

“Yeah— _yeah_. Keep going Jihoonie—you feel amazing.”

The slow shift of their lower bodies is maddening, their eyes locked as Jihoon rides Seungcheol lazily, breath quivering out of his throat with pleasure. The bulk of his stomach throws off his coordination; Seungcheol’s hands curve around his hips in compensation, his pelvis spreading to cradle Jihoon's weight.

“ _Hnn_ , Yes—like that, yes. _Ahh_ —Cheollie.”

Seungcheol is murmuring something to him, barely audible praises, thumbs skimming the curve of his stomach.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon rumbles, rolling down against the cradle of his hips, “gonna come.”

Seungcheol breathes out sharply through his nose and his thrusts break free of laziness and shift into something more demanding, his fingers carefully cradling the bump.

“Yeah, let me see you,” Seungcheol breaths, thumbing the head of his cock, and Jihoon mewls, head tipping back.

A tight clench of pleasure erupts inside of him, thighs shivering and achy as he comes against Seungcheol's stomach. Seungcheol is close behind, writhing beneath him and grunting lowly, eyes squeezed shut and lush mouth parted.

A minute later, Seungcheol is soft enough to shift him carefully off his lap, settling him down onto his side and curving in behind him. Seungcheol’s hand settles on him, curving under the swell of his belly, and Jihoon’s so comfortable he never wants to move again.

Warm breaths ghost across his nape, and Jihoon twists back to kiss him languidly, fingering his stubble-rough jaw.

“See—Always gentle. Such a good Alpha,” Jihoon grins, nipping at Seungcheol’s smiling lips.

* * *

 

Jihoon’s been whining at Seungcheol about making Jjamppong all day. He’s been craving it since breakfast and now that Seungcheol’s placed a steaming bowl of it in front of him, he abruptly comes to the realization that food is revolting.

Jihoon doesn’t know why anyone ever puts anything in their mouths, voluntarily.

“Something wrong? I made it just like you wanted.” Seungcheol says, slanting a look across the table.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jihoon mumbles, and feels the gnaw of his stomach afresh. Pushing his noodles around his bowl, “I just don’t feel hungry anymore.” he revises, grimacing.

“Well—are you hungry for something else? I can cook you something else.” Seungcheol says hopefully.

“No, it’s fine.” Jihoon smiles, and forces himself to drink a little more jasmine rice tea though his brain is rejecting even that offering. He’s read about this but didn’t believe it would happen to him: some men go off their food shortly before labour. 

“Jihoon?” Seungcheol prompts, a thin furrow forming between his eyebrows.

Jihoon smiles at him reassuringly. “I think I just need to lie down for a bit.”

It’s not until later, when Jihoon’s brushing his teeth in front of the bathroom mirror, that he feels the first of the labour pains: it’s just a faint rolling sense of tension, mild far-away discomfort, a few moments of breathless surprise, and then it’s over.

Seungcheol’s on the phone to his brother in the living room and misses the whole thing.

Jihoon waits for him to hang up before calling for him. “Cheol?”

In the meantime, there’s another pain, and it’s not polite and standing aside waiting for Jihoon to notice, not like the first one. This pain is demanding all of Jihoon’s focus as it ripples down his middle in stages, hard clenching rolls of tension.

It eases off little by little, leaving Jihoon a bit sweaty and not a little breathless.

“Cheol?” Jihoon calls out, a little more urgently this time.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol answers.

Jihoon lifts his head and checks the clock: twenty-three minutes since the last one, still not nearly time to head to the hospital or call the doctor. It’s fine, it’s bearable,

“Don’t freak out, but—I think it’s starting.”

There’s a drawn out silence from the other room that lasts long enough that Jihoon thinks Seungcheol had died, or perhaps transcended to another plane of existence. Or even perhaps he’s having tunnel vision in the living room. _Fantastic_.

Then there’s purposeful strides coming down the corridor, and Seungcheol walks through the doorway looking composed and serious, rolling up his shirtsleeves.

Jihoon’s more than a little startled with how calm he looks.

Too calm actually.

He looks like he’s about to start boiling water and fetching towels and announcing he’ll be delivering the pups himself, fuck the birth plan.

“How many minutes apart roughly?” Seungcheol asks soberly, coming around to his side of the bed.

Jihoon lifts his face up to the air, overheated, breathing hard. “Twenty-three on my last count.”

Seungcheol nods, doing the maths.

“Okay. So here’s what’s going to happen. The bag’s packed and ready to go. I’m going to run you a nice warm bath that will help lessen the discomfort, and when the contractions are ten minutes apart, we’re going to drive to the hospital nice and leisurely. Okay?” Seungcheol finishes with a thumbs up.

“Uh. Yes.” Jihoon says, still thrown by the shock of the moment, Seungcheol being utterly and devastatingly calm about the whole thing. And okay—maybe a little turned on.

In the middle of _labour_.

 _Fuck_! Only Choi Seungcheol could do this to him.

* * *

 

“I’m glad you’re here.” Jihoon says, blinking up dewy lashes at Seungcheol as he wiggles his feet in the water. “You’re so calm and it’s making me— _Son of a bitch!”_

Jihoon pulls his knees up and exhales between clenched teeth and thinks of clouds blowing over mountaintops, shadows rolling over sunlit fields. River currents skating over smooth timeworn rocks.

When his head clears again, Seungcheol has a heavy warm hand on his back under the water, stroking gently.

“Easy, easy. You’re doing great.” Seungcheol murmurs, kissing the damp hair at his temple.

Jihoon can tell it’s killing Seungcheol to keep his hands away now that he’s realized Jihoon’s in pain.

Jihoon reaches out and squeezes Seungcheol’s upper arm, trails fingers down to stroke his hand. “Thanks. What—what was I saying before?”

“You were saying how you wanted to name one of the pups after Seungmin.” Seungcheol says, clearing his throat. “Cause he’s going to be a great uncle and an awesome babysitter.”

“So that’s what he was calling about earlier.” Jihoon surmises flatly, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol chuckles sheepishly. “He won’t let it drop. I promised I would put in a good word.”

Jihoon rests his head against the edge of the tub and laughs.

Seungmin is almost as excited about the prospect of pups as Seungcheol himself. He’s been visiting every week to commune with the bump, always arrives laden with gifts for the pups and snacks for Jihoon, and Jihoon _knows_ he’s the one responsible for the twin baby-cruisers parked in the garage.

“Hmm,” Jihoon hums noncommittally. “Maybe we’ll save Seungmin for the next time.”

Seungcheol’s mouth twitches into a half-smile, and then his eyebrow bends into a far more expressive upwards arc. “Next time?”

“Oh, God!”

* * *

 

It’s actually as painful as Jihoon feared, being in labour.

He can’t believe people want to do this more than once.

It’s like getting kicked in the balls— _repeatedly_. But unlike getting kicked in the balls, some people come out the other side of labour with a baby and somewhere down the line they say— _'Hey, you know what? Let’s have another baby!’_

Jihoon’s pretty sure nobody gets kicked in the balls and then says— _'Hey, you know what? I fancy another kick in the balls.’_

Which probably suggests that getting kicked in the balls is a pain worse than labour. Or maybe it’s just less rewarding?

Whatever.

The doctor says you're not meant to remember pain, that's one of God's little gifts, right up there with oral sex. But fucking hell, contractions are not a fun time.

Jihoon lounges in the bathtub for hours, Seungcheol at his side refilling it with warm water, bringing him everything he needs. His bag is packed and ready by the door, and they call the Dr, who reminds them to wait until the pains are ten minutes part before going to the maternity ward.

The contractions progress with astonishing regularity; Jihoon had no idea any part of his body could work on such a strict schedule, really. But onwards they march: twenty-two minutes apart, narrowing to twenty, nineteen, eighteen.

Jihoon hasn’t got any kind of appetite but Seungcheol encourages him to choke down a cup of tea, half a biscuit. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven and Seungcheol has him out of the bath and dressed as the contractions drop to ten minutes apart.

“Get these babies out of me!” Jihoon whimpers, clutching at Seungcheol’s arms.

“Hey, hey,” says Seungcheol, steady and strong and not swaying even a little as he opens his arms and Jihoon folds up against him, bending with pain, clean steady hard pain that drives out everything else.

“Let’s get you to the hospital, okay? You’re amazing—doing so well.”

“Shut up,” Jihoon tells him, grating the words out, pressing his forehead into the muscled planes of Seungcheol’s chest. “This is all your fault. You impregnated me with your _seed_ and now the babies are trying to burst through my stomach like the Aliens from Alien. Which is an awesome movie. We need to watch it again when this is all over. Except the third one—which was _awful_ and should be erased from cinema history.”

Seungcheol's breath is whisper-soft on Jihoon’s ear, so Jihoon feels more than hears Seungcheol laughing at him.

“Okay, then, we’ll do whatever you do want,” Seungcheol soothes, an audible smile in his voice.

“I want you to fucking  _shut up_ ,” Jihoon snaps, panting. “and  _stroke my back_.”

“Shutting up,” Seungcheol agrees, and strokes the back of Jihoon’s neck tentatively.

“Still talking,” Jihoon answers through clenched teeth.

Ten minutes sounds like a good space of time when you just think about it objectively, but Jihoon is surprised to discover how ten minutes collapse down to a scant handful of productive actions before he’s forced to stop in his tracks, grab Seungcheol, and concentrate on nothing more than breathing and staying upright and fighting a rising sense of panic because the contractions are coming faster and faster and he’s still at home.  

“Cheollie—I’m never letting you put your dick in me again.” He sobs as Seungcheol pulls away from their drive.

* * *

 

They arrive at the hospital and Seungcheol launches from the car like a cat racing out of a paper bag. “Stay where you are Jihoonie.”

Jihoon splays his hand across the swell of his abdomen, taking a moment in the silence of the car just to breath.

Seungcheol returns not a minute later with a wheelchair and a brisk-looking middle aged woman in hospital scrubs. He opens the passenger door and hooks a forearm under Jihoon’s armpit, supports him as he gasps and half-whimpers.

“Seungcheol—wait. I need to tell you something.” says Jihoon, fisting a hand in the front of Seungcheol’s shirt.

“What? Now? Jihoon,” He hesitates, shifts his gaze away and then back. “We need to go. You’re down to five minutes. You’re in _labour_.”

Jihoon nods. He’s finally settled into the brief fallow period of clarity between contractions, and he’s able to straighten up and breathe evenly without wetting himself.

“I need to say this. I just _want_ to say this before we go in there and everything changes forever.” Jihoon tells him seriously.

Though he didn’t mean to say it _so_ seriously, the words make Seungcheol draw up taut and serious and surprised. Jihoon keeps going, because five minutes isn’t long enough by half to say what he wants to properly. Jihoon is going to have to tell it quickly, instead.

“I love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I _know_ I don’t say it enough, and I _know_ I can be so difficult and moody, but you’re always so good to me. So patient, even though I don’t deserve it sometimes.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to interrupt and Jihoon holds a hand to silence him; he hasn’t got time for it.

“The first thought I have in the morning and the last thought I have at night is about how lucky I am to have you. I think it a thousand times a day, even when I’m scowling at you. You’ve given me a life I didn’t think I could _ever_ have. _Honestly_ , a life I didn’t know I wanted till I was with you. You’ve given me a home, pups, your unending patience. I love you so, so much—It scares me how much sometimes because I never thought I could feel this way about anyone. Thank you, Cheollie, for— _everything_.”

Seungcheol’s mouth curls ever so slightly. "Puddin," he says fondly, in the stupid voice he uses when he's teasing Jihoon for having feelings other than irritation and anger.

"Ugh, I’m never going to be this cheesy again so enjoy it while you can.” Jihoon says, embarrassed.

“And don’t you dare tell anyone I said it either!”

* * *

 

After a long series of horrible transitions — car to kerb, kerb to lift, lift to wheelchair, wheelchair back to his feet — Jihoon spends a long time walking in small endless circles in his private hospital room.

The world blooms out into light and sound between pains, and now and then Jihoon can swat his way through the consuming work of enduring the pain to shout at everyone.

The rest of the time it’s like crawling half-paralyzed through a narrow space without much sense of how far he’s travelled or how far he’s yet to go.

After a while his circles get tighter and smaller, his bit of linoleum tiled floor shrinks, and he balances with his face flat to the back of a handy chair while Seungcheol leans into his lower back and murmurs soft lovely things, while the nurse says  _not much longer now, you’re almost there_.

“I’ve been almost there for hours,” Jihoon says, next time the Doctor pops in to check.

“Almost there, you’re doing brilliantly” says the Doctor with an encouraging if empty sort of smile.

“Seungcheol—if that woman says I’m almost there _one more time_ —you have to kill her,” Jihoon says, a bit wildly, clutching at Seungcheol’s shoulders.

“Okay Jihoonie.” says Seungcheol, and dashes a pleased kiss against Jihoon’ sweaty temple even though Jihoon can’t work out why. He was being _serious_.

“I’m being serious!”

“Yeah, sure thing,” says Seungcheol, and glances over at the machine that’s tracking Jihoon’s contractions. “Okay, here comes another one.”

And that’s all there is before the pain comes back and Jihoon can’t make out Seungcheol’s reassurances through the fog around him.

Jihoon tries to breathe through it and says sort of mad things and leans hard into the hands supporting him and then suddenly the pain sharpens to a keen point and Jihoon tumbles down towards it.

“Whoa, whoa, he’s bearing down,” says the nurse in a voice that’s half panic, half excitement,

“Jihoon, hang on, don’t push, we need to get you up onto the bed.” Seungcheol says. He’s  _definitely_  excited, he’s laughing even if he sounds a little unhinged with it.

Seungcheol and the nurse help carry him as Jihoon barely manages the few steps he needs to take in order to reach the bed.

Halfway there Jihoon yelps, and suddenly he’s leaking.

“Uhm?” Jihoon asks.

The nurse doesn't even seem concerned, like people walk around the hospital all the time with things dripping out of them. And right, probably they do, but it seems like the sort of thing one should always notice at least. It's only polite.

“I’ll fetch the doctor.” She says, leaving them for a moment.

For a second as Jihoon settles onto the bed, he makes eye contact with Seungcheol — Seungcheol who still looks exhausted and worn and hungry, but who’s suddenly got that manic Alpha rut aura of enthusiasm around him, too.

“Fuck,” breathes Jihoon, moved by the sight of him, “Don’t go Alpha tunnel vision on me now, Cheol.”

“I won’t,” Seungcheol says, helping him get situated, managing the IV line and the leads from Jihoon’s foetal heart monitor gently, “I just can _smell_ you’re in pain and—it’s making me a little angry. I feel helpless and…. There’s a reason why Alpha’s aren’t usually allowed in the delivery room.”

“You’re so sweet.” says Jihoon, beaming at him, amused. “I don’t doubt that you would try and have these babies for me if you could.”

Seungcheol presses his forehead against Jihoon’s temple, breathing him in. “I would. I totally would. I hate seeing you in pain.”

“Pain is in the mind,” Jihoon tells him.

The nurse comes back with the doctor and they're moving the bed, getting it set up with stirrups and reclined at an angle, and there's a tray of horrible looking instruments, and then there's a clear plastic isolette already lined with homely blue sterile drapes, and Jihoon stares at it and thinks— _That's where they'll put the pups_.

“Sometimes,” Seungcheol agrees, “but not right now.” He takes Jihoon hand and squeezes, perfect and firm and steady. “This is real.”

* * *

 

“What are they trying to do? Come out at the same time?” Jihoon pants, a dozen or so pushes later, ecstatic and giddy with the release of being able to  _do_  something beyond mere endurance.

It’s much more violent than he’d guessed, labour, it’s more raw and physical and bare.

“Jihoon I have no idea how you’re doing this. You’re amazing.” Seungcheol responds with a flushed grin, adjusting his grip on Jihoon hand, glancing down at the doctor seated between Jihoon’s thighs.

“I know. I’m awesome.” Jihoon says, “oh, oh, here’s another, mother _fucker_.”

* * *

 

The first squalling cry pierces the air like shattering glass. Beside him, Jihoon is coated in sweat and panting heavily, eyes mere slits beneath heavy lashes.

“It's a boy, an Alpha.” the doctor announces, smiling, and before Seungcheol can process this information a squirming, shrieking bundle is being laid in his arms.

“Oh,” Seungcheol murmurs, looking down at their son.

He’s huge!

He’s Extra Large.

Where’s the other pup? Did he eat it?

Seungcheol laughs through the wetness in his eyes. He feels buoyant, wonders absently if his feet are still touching the floor. He strokes a hand over sandy wisps of hair; a tiny, chubby hand finds his pinky finger, wraps around it.

“ _Hello_.” He croaks, dipping his head to scent his son. “You’re so big! My big boy.” He coos, waving a forefinger in front of the baby, watching the way his tiny eyes track the movement through a flurry of bleating furious cries.

There’s a second cry, sharp but brief as Jihoon pushes twin number two out.

Before Seungcheol realises it, the first twin is being taken off him somewhere to get cleaned up. He doesn't have time to think about how his arms feel empty, how his skin feels cool where the baby was nestled against him before he’s handed another, tinier bundle by a nurse with sure gloved hands.

“It’s a girl—an Omega. Congratulations.” The nurse tells him.

“Oh my god, she’s so tiny.” Seungcheol exhales, terrified.

He scrambles to gather her close, grip shifting through the warm blanket until he’s got her right against him, nestled impossibly tiny on his chest.

She’s _so_ small, Seungcheol’s wracked with fear, _concern_ — but then he sniffs her, can feel her squirm, the kick of leg that he’s grown to know from the other side and he finds himself knocked flat by tenderness and love and fierce mind-altering devotion; it goes in waves like that for long minutes.

Unlike her brother, she doesn’t cry—doesn’t make a peep, just looks up at Seungcheol with wide, bright, unfocused eyes. The wing of her delicate ear is like the softest fold of silk pressed against his arm, her fingers are long and tapered and the fingernails are pearlescent ovals, miniature and amazing. When Seungcheol uncurls one fist to look at her palm, she wraps her fingers back around his pinkie and squeezes with surprising strength.

“Hello my Extra-small princess.” Seungcheol coos, wiggling his finger. “I love you so much already, like you don’t even know.”

“Are they okay? Are they okay Cheol?” Jihoon rasps dozily. Even slumped out on the bed, hair thrust out in every direction, sweating and sticky—he’s the most beautiful thing Seungcheol’s ever seen. The look on his face isn't quite excitement.... It's the peaceful joy of finally receiving a long-expected guest.

Seungcheol strokes the wisps of hair topping Baby Girl’s head, beaming stupidly. “They’re fine, Ji-hoonie. They’re per-fect.” Seungcheol says, voice starting to crack.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon breathes heavily for a minute as nurses fuss around him. He feels sticky and sweaty and absolutely filthy, and he’s still sore and aching.  When he opens his eyes it because Seungcheol’s standing next to the bed, cradling a baby in each arm and crying louder than both of them.

A nurse leans in to speak to him quietly, “Is he going to be okay?” She asks, gesturing at the emotional Alpha.

“Oh yeah, he’s fine.” Jihoon pants, amused, riding high on a glorious sense of accomplishment better than anything he’s ever felt.

Baby Girl’s curled up silently in Seungcheol’s left arm, squinting out at the world like she’s not happy to have been woken and then handed to a large, crying man. Baby Boy is squirming in the bend of Seungcheol’s right arm. He must have taken up most of the space inside Jihoon’s stomach because he’s almost twice the size of his sister. And just like his Alpha daddy, he’s balling his eyes out.

The male nurse patting Jihoon’s brow exchanges an amused look with him. “Alpha’s—Am I right?”

* * *

 

“Are you competing in some sort of _crying_ contest with our new-born son?” Jihoon calls half-heartedly from the bed  

Seungcheol stops crying tears of joy long enough to look at Jihoon and shake his head.  

He’s overcome with emotion. He’s been awake twenty-four hours, and though he hasn’t pushed two human beings into the world like Jihoon has, he’s also not riding on a wave of endorphins and oxytocin.

Jihoon was amazing, endured it all so stoically, but Seungcheol feels like he’s somehow laboured with him, his body wrung out and weary from the endless torment of watching Jihoon suffer, not to mention the lack of sleep and food.

“I’m just so happy. They’re here—our pups are _here_. I don’t know why Extra-large is crying though.” He says, looking down at their son who hasn’t stopped making disagreeable noise since he’s arrived.

“Maybe cause you keep calling him _Extra-Large_.” Jihoon laughs, stretching his arms out towards Seungcheol. “Give him over.” he orders.

Seungcheol carefully transfers the wailing baby to Jihoon’s waiting arms, tucking the blankets more tightly around the both of them.

The crying ceases the second Jihoon holds Baby Boy against his chest, sobs of complaint cutting off into contented burbles. He seems calmed by Jihoon’s touch, burying himself closer with a wriggle and squeak.

Jihoon does some sort of swaying motion with his upper body, offering the baby a finger from his free hand to clutch at, which goes immediately into its mouth.

“Hungry, are we my chubby prince.” Jihoon says, after pausing to attack Baby Boy with a series of fond kisses, eyes wet, overcome with adoration. 

“Ahh—look at that. He loves you more already.” Seungcheol says, eyes wide and grinning mouth and trembling reaching fingers tucking back damp tendrils of blonde hair. “He’s got your hair.”

“Yeah, but he looks exactly like you, like _woah_ ,” Jihoon says, blinking, stunned at the resemblance: Seungcheol’s hairline, his lips, his doe eyes, his adorable ears. “I’ve just given birth to  _you_.”

 “Yeah, yeah,” Seungcheol says eagerly, leaning in to see. Under their combined scrutiny, baby boy gurgles, kicks his legs against the blanket. “Oh my god, how did you do this?”

“I don’t know,” Jihoon says, “It feels surreal and,” he buries the rest in a series of kisses to the soft crown of the baby’s head like he’s just realized he hasn’t kissed him for at least a minute, possibly two.

“I’m in love. Look at his chubby legs. He looks like he ate all the food inside and then some of my internal organs.” Jihoon says, but he’s laughing even as he rubs a hand over the fluffy crown of Baby boy’s head in apology. “He’s the chubbiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m in love.”

“You just said he looks exactly like me, and now you’re saying he’s the chubbiest thing you’ve,” Seungcheol starts to point out, and then gets derailed when Baby-Girl starts kicking her legs feebly.

“Hi there,” Seungcheol says, gone breathless. “Look who’s awake again. Did we wake you up my smallest, most beautiful princess? _Daddy’s sorry_.”

Baby-Girl’s forehead wrinkles and her tiny, fine dark brows furrows like she heard the word _smallest_ —and doesn’t approve of it.

“She—I think she just _scowled_ at me.” Seungcheol whispers reverently, and leans down to brush a kiss to the top of her head.

The scowling doesn’t cease, it looks like it’s going to be a permanent fixture on her tiny, precious face.

She’s delightfully, perfectly Jihoon-en-petit.

She looks like she’s going to start in questioning Seungcheol’s every utterance any second. She needs a tiny black skirt and a crisp shirt with the sleeves shuttled up her little arms and an espresso cup of black coffee. A tiny piano and a mini-set of headphones.

Carefully, Seungcheol transfers her to Jihoon’s other arm, cradling her body — small, so small — balanced along his forearm, her little head palmed in his hand like a grapefruit. She squirms and waves her fists, making little squeaking sounds, pulling unhappy faces.

“Look at her Jihoonie—it’s like she’s saying, ‘Ya’ll better shut up—I’m trying to nap here’” Seungcheol says, beaming, waggling one of her little fists in the air.

“Oh God Cheol, she’s so small.” Jihoon gasps. He reaches out a finger and strokes one round cheek, and the baby grunts and chases after it, latches onto it. "Oh, I know, I know, princess," says Jihoon, laughing.

He presses a soft kiss to her tiny pout, kisses her little head and communes quietly with her for a few sweet minutes.

“She’s a saint.” Seungcheol says, sitting down on the bed next to Jihoon, flinging his arm around Jihoon's shoulders and leaning close to peer at his pups. “Sharing a room with her chunky brother for nine months, and not even a peep of complaint when she got out.”

Jihoon grins, “You saw the ultrasound. He was protecting her inside. Keeping her comfortable like a giant, squishy pillow.” He says with his usual calm pragmatism.

“If you say so, Jihoonie.” Seungcheol drawls, bumping his index finger back and forth over Baby Boy’s soft sweet toes, the little row of them like pink peas in a pod. “I still think he ate all her food.” He murmurs out of the side of his mouth.

Jihoon giggles, nudging him lightly with his shoulder.

Seungcheol isn’t sure how long they sit there, Seungcheol holding Jihoon, Jihoon holding their pups, but it’s not the weird timelessness that characterized the last several weeks of Jihoon’s pregnancy. It’s something else, something new, a breathless suspension of reality.

“Look at them,” Seungcheol exhales quietly, “look at our puppies. What the fuck — I mean,  _holy shit_.”

“I’ll be sure to write those immortal words down for the baby book.” Jihoon says, with his peculiarly _Jihoonian_ blend of fondness and disdain.

Seungcheol huffs out a sound midway between a laugh and a sigh, “And what will be on the front of that baby book? Huh? You settled on _names_ yet, or are we going with Heineken and Bud-Light Choi-lee?”

“Hansol and Haru.” Jihoon whispers, smiling.

Seungcheol can’t stifle the proud little smile that pops onto his face in answer to this, “Really? I thought you said my choice was _cheesy_.”

Jihoon turns his head for a kiss, slow and soft and sweet, careful of the two babies tucked against him. Both of them are smiling when they pull away.

“Look at them,” Jihoon says, for what feels like the millionth time in the pups life thus far, “I don’t care how cheesy it is. Your choice is clearly perfect.” He concedes with good grace.

“Hansol and Haru.” Seungcheol echoes with a smile.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Ahhhh. Pups are here.  
> 2) Honestly, name picking was hard. I almost felt like there were my babies or something. XD  
> 3) I settled for those names after I asked ppl on twitter and one of the few replies I got mentione Hansol, and I do like that name. Also, unlike Jihoon...I love matchy matchy twin names.  
> 4) I hope this was satisfying for everyone who wanted pups, and for everyone who doesn't like Mpreg, I hope there was something you enjoyed.  
> 5) It's near the end now for this fic. The last part will be some kiddy stuff.  
> 6) Hope you enjoyed reading! And I hope my tilting of biological processes wasn't too ridiculous for anyone. It's just a fic after all.  
> Feedback appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Sorry. I haven't ended something with a cliffhanger in a while...huh?  
> 2) This part will be hella long because there is just so much to cover omg.   
> 3) It's taking forever to write cause work is kicking my ass atm :(  
> 4) Hope you enjoy part one! Feedback always appreciated.


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